EX  LIBR1S 


FRED  M.  I)K>VIT 

lt<  »<  >K-.I:I.I.I:K 

•  II  TKKI-XiKAlMI    AVI:. 


ALVMNW  BOOK  FVND 


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ANNE    SPARROW  AS   THE    PURITAN    PRISCILLA. 

"To  be  sure,  her  kerchief  was  figured  and  her  apron  cross-barred;  but  what 
of  that  ? "  —  Page  194. 


ZURY:   THE   MEANEST  MAN 
IN   SPRING   COUNTY 


A   NOVEL   OF  WESTERN  LIFE 


BY 


JOSEPH    KIRKLAND 


BOSTON   AND    NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


1887 


Copyright,  1887, 
BY  JOSEPH  KIRKLAND. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  f 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  II.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


•z/8 


CONTENTS. 


I.  EARLY  DAYS  IN  SPRING  COUNTY  ....       1 
II.   TRIFLING  DOINGS  OF  Low- DOWN  FOLKS       .        .     21 

III.  ZURY  "  NIGGERING  '.'  LOGS  AND  MAKING  A  CORN- 

CROP 37 

IV.  MORE  WORK,  MORE  PIGS,  BUT  NO  MONEY  FOR  A 

COLLEGE    ,..,.•••    64 
V.   How  THE  MEANEST  MAN  GOT  so    MEAN,  AND 

HOW  MEAN  HE  GOT 74 

VI.  A  BRAVE  GIRL  —  THOUGH  A  COWARD  .  .    88 

VII.  ANNE  SPARROW  MEETS  THE  MEANEST  MAN         .  106 
VIII.   How  ANNE    BOARDS    'ROUND,   AND    HOW  SHE 

LIKES  IT 131 

IX.  UNIVERSALISM,  AND  "  COMMON-LAW  MARRIAGE  "  150 

X.    HOW  FARES    THE  TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER  ?     176 

XI.  ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END  —  AND  HER  PEACE 

ALSO 202 

XII.  ANNE  COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED         .        .  224 

XIII.  PANDORA'S  Box,  WITH  HOPE  AT  THE  VERY  BOT 

TOM     246 

XIV.  PASTORAL    CARE   FOR   AN  INTRACTABLE  EWE- 

LAMB  269 

XV.  KICKING  AGAINST  THE  PRICKS  ....  287 
XVI.  A  NOVELTY  IN  NOVEL  WEDDING  TRIPS  .  .  303 
XVII.  ZURY  FOR  THE  LEGISLATURE  ....  326 

XVIII.   ELECTIONEERING 342 

XIX.  HOME  AGAIN  —  ZURY  DEFEATED  THOUGH  VICTO- 

__  RIOUS 362 


'J09.L 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX.  SHOOTING-MATCH  —  CHOIR  —  PASTOR'S  VISIT      .  376 

XXI.  ZURY  IN  THE  LEGISLATURE  AND  OUT  OF  IT  .        .  397 

XXII.  MAN  PROPOSES  ;  WOMAN  DISPOSES       .        .        .  415 

XXIII.  A  NIGHTMARE  —  ALSO  A  HORSE-SHED          .        .  440 

XXIV.  A  LONG  SLEIGH-RIDE 460 

XXV.  AMARI  ALIQUID 475 

XXVI.  ANOTHER  PROPOSAL  AND  ANOTHER  ANSWER      .  493 
XXVII.   A  LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM  .  509 


ZURY: 

THE  MEANEST  MAN  IN   SPRING  COUNTY. 

CHAPTER   I. 
EARLY  DAYS   IN   SPUING   COUNTY. 

GREAT  are  the  toils  and  terrible  the  hardships 
that  go  to  the  building  up  of  a  frontier  farm  ;  in 
conceivable  to  those  who  have  not  done  the  task 
or  watched  its  doing.  In  the  prairies,  Nature  has 
stored,  and  preserved  thus  far  through  the  ages, 
more  life-materials  than  she  ever  before  amassed 
in  the  same  space.  It  is  all  for  man,  but  only  for 
such  men  as  can  take  it  by  courage  and  hold  it  by 
endurance.  Many  assailants  are  slain,  many  give 
up  and  fly,  but  he  who  is  sufficiently  brave,  and 
strong,  and  faithful,  and  fortunate,  to  maintain  the 
fight  to  the  end,  has  his  ample  reward. 

"  'Spect  we  must  be  a-gittin'  daown  inter 
Spring  River  bottom,  dad." 

"  Should  n'  wonder,  Zury.  This  h'yer  flat 's 
the  secV  bottom.  Tears  t'  be  a  drap  jist  ahead, 
—  that'll  let  us  daown  t'  the  low  bottom." 

Just   then,    a   more  than   usually  vicious   jolt 


2  ZURY. 

of  the  wagon  beside  which  they  were  walking, 
brought  a  cry  of  pain  from  inside  the  cotton  tilt 
that  covered  it.  Old  Ephraitn  stopped  the  team, 
and  poked  his  head  into  the  opening  at  the  back. 

"  What  's  the  matter,  Shoog  ? "  (short  for 
"  Sugar  ").  "  Did  'ee  hurt  'eeself  ?  " 

"  Mommy's  honey  knocked  her  head  agin  the 
hoop,  when  ye  slumped  inter  that  blamed  old 
chuck-hole  !  "  said  the  mother,  who  had  her  sick 
little  girl  in  her  arms,  assuaging  the  pain  of  a 
hard  bump,  the  latest  of  many  sustained  during 
the  past  weeks  of  slow  and  painful  travel. 

"  Poppy  can't  oilers  shun  'raound  th'  chuck- 
holes  ;  the  road  's  so  narrer,  'n'  the'  's  sech  lots  on 
'em  ! " 

"Chuck-holes"  is  the  expressive  Western  name 
for  the  short,  sharp  depressions  which  use  makes 
in  unworked  country  roads,  each  hole  being  on 
the  other  side  of  the  track  from  some  rock  or 
root  that  raises  a  wheel  out  of  its  rut. 

"  Don't  li'l  Shoog  wanter  come  out  'n'  have 
poppy  hold  her  on  the  mare  fer  a  spell?" 

But  the  little  pale  one  was  too  tired,  and  only 
shook  her  head. 

"  Wai  —  never  mind  !  Mebbe  we  '11  git  thar 
come  night.  Then  she  kin  rest !  " 

With  this  blessed,  heavenly,  almost  incon 
ceivably  blissful  thought,  the  little  procession 
resumed  its  laborious  progress.  It  consisted  of 
a  "prairie  schooner,"  a  groaning  and  complain 
ing  wagon,  covered  with  a  cotton  tilt  stretched 
over  high  hoops,  and  drawn  by  a  span  of  jaded 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  SPRING   COUNTY.  3 

mares  worn  down  by  hundreds  of  miles  of  steady 
pulling,  and  still  further  exhausted  by  two  long- 
legged,  shambling  colts,  that  had  been  their  bur 
den  and  their  solace  ever  since  they  left  the 
mountains  of  southern  Pennsylvania.  Next  fol 
lowed  a  cow  and  calf.  Next  came  a  fine  sheep 
dog,  evidently  in  charge  of  the  whole  party,  and 
extremely  watchful  that  no  man,  woman,  or  child, 
horse,  colt,  cow,  or  calf,  or  smallest  bit  of  stray 
personal  property,  should  fall  out  and  get  left  be 
hind.  If  a  whip  should  be  dropped,  Shep  would 
pick  it  up,  and  drag  it  carefully  forward  until 
relieved  of  its  long,  awkward  weight.  Even  a 
piece  of  useless  household  waste  could  not  be  got 
rid  of  without  its  being  once  or  oftener  taken 
away  from  Shep,  while  he  was  sternly  given  to 
understand  that  it  must  be  left  behind,  —  blows 
being  sometimes  necessary  to  his  full  compre 
hension, —  after  which  he  would  consent  to  aban 
don  it,  reluctantly  and  with  many  a  halt  and 
backward  look.  Then  he  would  be  low-spirited 
and  unhappy  for  miles,  seeming  hurt  that  his 
humble  effort  to  be  useful  should  be  snubbed 
and  nipped  in  the  bud. 

The  guiding  spirit  of  the  caravan  was  a 
shabby,  grizzled,  middle-aged  man,  worn  and 
bent  with  toil  and  self-forgetfulness.  He  walked 
beside  the  mares,  sometimes  guiding  them,  but 
oftener  letting  them  find  their  own  way,  with 
the  lines  hung  up  on  the  names.  Near  him,  or 
elsewhere,  "  here  and  there  and  everywhere," 
traveled  a  stout,  red-faced,  well-grown  boy,  of 


4  ZURY. 

whom  we  shall  hear  so  much  in  these  pages  that 
we  need  not  dwell  upon  him  just  now.  The 
whole  outfit,  the  "schooner"  and  its  accompani 
ments,  was  only  one  of  a  million  like  unto  it 
which  have  traversed  this  land,  headed  westward, 
in  the  century  past,  and  will  continue  to  travel 
for  a  generation  yet  to  come,  until  they  meet  the 
reflux  wave  from  the  Pacific  with  the  message, 
"  No  use  to  go  on.  Standing  room  only."  Then, 
as  the  illimitable  tide  continues  to  flow,  it  must 
diverge,  part  up  toward  the  Arctic,  to  the  region 
of  the  Saskatchewan,  even  disturbing  the  elk, 
beaver,  and  wild  swans  of  the  mysterious  Macken 
zie  River  ;  part  down,  down,  down,  to  the  Isthmus 
and  beyond.  They  are  good  things,  these  "  prairie 
schooners,"  the  carriers  of  virtue,  honesty,  intel 
ligence,  and  freedom,  and  an  incredible  capacity 
and  appetite  for  toil,  —  the  "  Mayflowers  of  the 
West." 

Now  our  party  reaches  another  steep  decliv 
ity,  to  descend  which  a  wheel  has  to  be  chained. 
Once  down,  they  find  themselves  in  a  flat  and 
comfortable  bottom-land,  formed  by  the  latest 
river  deposits,  containing  some  sand  and  gravel, 
and  therefore  making  a  better  roadway,  in  dry 
times,  than  the  clayey  upland.  Gigantic  white- 
trunked  poplars,  cottonwoods,  and  sycamores,  and 
ragged  water-elms,  with  a  plentiful  sprinkling  of 
splendid  black-walnuts,  here  spring  from  an  al 
most  grassless  plain,  and  climbing  up  their  trunks 
and  stretching  from  tree  to  tree  are  enormous 
wild  grape-vines,  —  the  whole  having  a  look  of 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  SPRING   COUNTY.  5 

tropical  luxuriance.  Up  to  a  certain  level,  ex 
actly  the  same  on  all  the  trees,  there  is  a  gray 
stain  left  by  the  muddy  spring  floods,  which 
shows  the  proximity  of  the  river,  and  graphically 
indicates  the  times  when  it  changes  from  a  mere 
innocent-looking  belt  of  clear  water,  interrupted 
by  bars  and  beds  and  shallows  innumerable,  to 
a  vast  moving  lake, — a  surging  flood  of  silt- 
charged  fluid,  carrying  its  quota  to  form  the  delta 
of  the  Mississippi. 

So  great  is  the  relief  of  the  soft  and  level  road 
that  the  little  girl  falls  asleep,  and  awakes  quite 
refreshed;  then,  further  stimulated  by  a  dose  of 
the  inevitable  quinine,  she  is  induced  to  try  a 
short  ride  on  the  back  of  the  nigh  mare,  where 
her  father  carefully  holds  her  as  he  walks. 

"Oh,  ferever  !  how  funny!"  she  exclaims,  as 
she  looks  about  on  the  changed  scene.  "Ain't 
this  jist  tew  cur'us  !  Looks  's  though  th'  trees 
all  hed  the'r  stock'n's  on  !  " 

At  this  bright  fancy  the  others  all  laughed,  — 
or  came  as  near  to  a  hearty  laugh  as  their  kind, 
grim,  grown-up  pioneers,  ever  do  come. 

"Yew  bet!"  said  Zury.  "  Pootty  dirty 
stock'n's  tew !  " 

"  What 's  them  long  things  a-hangin'  fr'm  th' 
trees  ? " 

"  Them 's  swings  the  trees  puts  up  fer  good 
little  gals  to  swing  on  tew  !  "  % 

"Wai,  that's  me!" 

"  That 's  so,  honey !  If  ever  th'  wuz  a  good 
little  gal,  it 's  mommy's  honey.  Best  little  gal  on 
the  job." 


6  ZURY. 

"  Kin  I  git  t'  hev  a  swing?  " 

"Kin  ye?  Ye  jist  kin!  'N'  Zury 's  the  boy 
that  '11  swing  ye  !  Jest 's  sure  's  we  git  thar  !  " 

u  Thar,"  the  unknown  land  where  all  was  to 
be  well,  where  a  thousand  buds  of  promise  were 
to  blossom  and  a  thousand  dreams  were  to  be 
come  realities,  was  a  whole  section  of  the  public 
domain,  "six  hunderd  V  forty  acres  o'  the  finest 
land  th't  ever  laid  ou'  doors,"  which  Ephraim 
Prouder  had  "  entered,"  paying  for  it  partly  with 
the  land-warrant  given  him  as  a  soldier  in  the  war 
of  1812,  and  partly  with  the  entire  savings  of  his 
lifetime.  He  had  never  seen  it,  but  had  invested 
his  all  in  it  with  the  fine  and  amazing  faith  of  the 
emigrant,  —  faith  so  rarely  misplaced,  among  all 
the  hordes  who  have  taken  their  lives  in  their 
hands  and  journeyed  forth  to  people  the  West. 

"Ephr'm,  ain't  it  git-tin'  nigh  on  ter  noon? 
Better  n't  we  stop  and  eat  a  piece  ?  " 

"  Not  hardly,  S'liny,"  said  the  old  man,  squint 
ing  up  at  the  sun.  "  Guess  we  better  push  on 
t'  the  river.  Can't  be  fur  naow.  Then  we  '11  hev 
s'm  water  fer  the  stawk,  'n'  know  whar  we  be." 

Almost  as  he  spoke,  the  glitter  of  water  ap 
peared  between  the  tree  trunks,  and  they  soon 
reached  the  river  bank,  where  the  existence  of  a 
ferry  was  indicated  by  a  great  rope  stretched 
across,  each  end  attached  high  up  on  a  conven 
ient  tree  trunk1,  and  the  middle  hanging  down  near 
the  water. 

"  Guess  we  '11  ongear  h'yer,  'n'  git  acrost  after- 
w'ds,"  said  Ephraim. 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  SPRING    COUNTY.  7 

"  Better  hold  on  till  we  git  over,  dad  ;  th'  ain't 
no  grass  h'yer  fer  the  stawk,"  suggested  Zury. 

"  Mebbe  th'  ain't  none  t'  other  side  nuther, 
son." 

"  Mebbe  not,  but  the'  can't  be  any  less  'n  none, 
V  the'  kin  be  more." 

By  this  time  they  saw  the  scow  putting  out 
from  the  further  bank  and  creeping  slowly  over, 
aided  by  the  device  of  attaching  its  bow  to  the 
rope  with  a  shorter  line  than  that  which  held  its 
stern  ;  so  that  its  flat  side  was  presented  slanting 
to  the  current.  As  it  approached  it  did  not  look 
large  enough  to  hold  the  wagon,  alone;  but  never 
theless,  the  whole  caravan  was  got  on  board  and 
safely  over,  —  albeit  Shep  evidently  thought  the 
experiment  a  hazardous  one,  and  felt  it  incum 
bent  on  him  to  take  the  most  active  and  anxious 
care  that  no  accident  should  be  allowed  to  occur. 

The  place  where  they  crossed  was  a  mill-pond, 
made  by  a  dam  just  below.  At  the  dam  were  a 
saw-mill  and  grist-mill,  and  near  by  was  a  country 
store,  a  tavern,  and  a  few  other  modest  structures. 

"  That 's  Way  back,  I  s'pose." 

"  Ya-as,"  answered  the  ferryman.  "  That 's 
Wayback  City." 

"  'Spect  the'  's  a  ford  daown  below  the  dam," 
said  Zury. 

"  Wai,  yes,  a  kinder  sorter  one,"  answered  the 
other,  after  due  consideration  of  the  fact  that  he 
had  his  charge  safely  on  board  and  beyond  the 
possibility  of  backing  out.  "  Might  lose  a  colt  or 
a  calf,  V  th'  ferriage  is  only  twenty  cents." 


8  ZURY. 

"  Twenty  cents  !  "  said  father  and  son  in  cho 
rus.  The  idea  of  characterizing  such  a  sum  of 
money  as  "  only  twenty  cents  !  " 

But  there  was  no  help  for  it ;  the  money  was 
produced  with  difficulty  and  paid  with  pain.  The 
ferryman  directed  them  to  a  little  "  rise  "  where 
they  would  find  grass,  and  there  they  fed  their 
beasts  and  ate  their  "  piece  "  in  quiet ;  but  the 
outlay  of  twenty  cents  cast  a  gloom  over  the  oc 
casion. 

Afterward  the  "  men  folks  "  went  to  the  tavern 
to  get  some  accurate  directions  for  finding  their 
new  home  ;  they  only  knew  the  Section,  Town, 
and  Range,  and  that  it  was  on  the  edge  of  the 
timber  six  miles  beyond  Wayback.  Then  they 
spent  a  few  more  cents  in  supplies,  and  started 
on  the  final  stage  of  their  hegira. 

It  was  the  reverse  of  the  descent  they  had  made 
in  the  morning.  First  the  low,  ragged  luxuriance 
of  the  bottom,  annually  enriched  with  the  fine 
Nile-like  deposit  of  the  floods;  then  the  "second 
bottom,"  covered  with  the  calmer  verdure  spring 
ing  from  deposits  made  centuries  ago;  then  the 
final  climb  to  the  general  level. 

Spring  County  is  one  of  those  highly-prized  and 
early-sought-for  localities  where  both  prairie  and 
timber  awaited  the  settler.  Spring  River  in  the 
course  of  ages  had  dug  for  itself  a  deep  ravine, 
through  which  it  runs  between  high  banks,  — 
sometimes  abutting  the  river  in  bluffs,  sometimes 
receding  from  it  and  leaving  broad  bottoms,  but 
oftenest  having  bluff  on  one  side  and  bottom  on 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  SPRING   COUNTY.  9 

the  other.  On  each  bank  a  belt  of  country  was 
then  (it  was  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  present 
century  that  our  scene  opens)  covered  with  forest 
primeval.  The  timber  growth  of  the  near  bot 
toms  has  been  already  described.  Further  up  the 
slopes,  elm,  oak,  maple,  hickory,  and  other  hardy 
growths  had  braved  and  checked  the  prairie  fires 
and  equally  destructive  prairie  winds  from  time  im 
memorial.  Outside  these  timber  belts,  and  crowd 
ing  them  in  a  stout  struggle  for  the  mastery,  lies 
the  famous  u  Grand  Prairie."  For  countless  years 
the  soil  has  lain  fallow ;  crop  after  crop  of  prairie 
grass  has  grown  up  in  summer  strong  and  rank, 
and  then  in  winter  has  lain  down  and  decayed; 
the  result  of  the  process  being  a  soil  of  great 
general  fertility,  suggestive  of  a  thick  layer  of 
cream  on  a  gigantic  milkpan.  Lucky  the  pioneer 
who  has  such  woods  behind  him  and  such  prairie 
before  him  at  the  onset  of  his  battle  with  the 
elements. 

As  the  Providers'  caravan  emerged  from  the 
timber  on  the  open,  Ephraim  called  to  his  wife,  — 

"  See  here,  S'liny  !  Here  's  the  Grand  Paraira 
at  last !  " 

With  haste  Selina  scrambled  out  to  the  wagon- 
seat,  where  she  sat  and  feasted  her  eyes  on  the 
long-wished-for  sight.  There  it  was,  to  be  sure ! 
Under  the  warm  afternoon  sun,  which  was  al 
ready  sinking  in  the  yellow  western  glow  of  a 
great,  cloudless  sky,  lay  an  undulating  ocean  of 
grass  and  flowers.  In  places,  where  an  inequality  of 
the  surface  brought  them  into  perspective  range, 


10  ZURY. 

the  "  prairie  flowers  "  (blue  gentian)  gave  to  the 
whole  sward  a  tinge  of  pale  azure ;  here  and  there  a 
tall  "  rosin  weed  "  would  raise  its  spike  of  bloom  ; 
and  again,  the  golden-rod  gave  the  needed  "dash  of 
color; "  in  damp  spots  there  were  lady-slippers  and 
other  thirsty  plants  ;  and  mixed  with  these  few 
examples  of  nature's  gay  moods  were  weeds  and 
flowers  of  a  thousand  descriptions  and  as  many 
shades  of  color  and  varieties  of  form  and  texture. 
Among,  between,  and  around  them  was  the  per 
sistent,  peculiar  prairie  grass,  a  hardy,  seedless 
growth  that  spreads  only  by  pushing  out  its  in 
tricate,  interlacing  roots ;  tenacious  of  life,  and 
resisting  drought  and  ^even  fire  with  wonderful 
hardihood,  but  never  deigning  to  reestablish  it 
self  after  its  chosen  place  has  been  desecrated  by 
the  plow.  In  ground  that  has  been  cultivated 
and  then  allowed  to  return  to  waste,  other  grasses 
may  be  sown,  strange  weeds  may  plant  them 
selves  in  wild  waste  ;  but  its  former  proud  occu 
pant  never  returns. 

Now  it  is  near  nightfall,  and  the  man  of  the 
family  begins  to  look  out  anxiously  for  some 
landmark  in  the  woods  which  for  miles  back 
have  been  skirting,  on  the  right,  the  prairie  road 
they  are  traveling.  At  length  he  stops  the  team, 
and  walks  off  toward  a  towering  oak  he  has  been 
noticing  from  afar.  The  two  colts  instantly  lie 
down  ;  so  do  the  cow  and  calf,  and  the  dog ;  and 
each  of  the  mares  begins  to  "  favor  "  her  weariest 
foot.  The  youth  climbs  into  the  wagon-seat,  and 
rests  there ;  and  the  woman,  with  the  child  in 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  SPRING   COUNTY.         11 

her  arms,  emerges  from  the  recesses  of  the  tilt 
and  sits  beside  him,  without  a  word.  The  soft 
rustle  of  the  tree-tops  and  the  music  of  the  tree- 
toads  are  the  only  sounds  which  break  the  vast 
silence.  Presently  the  man  returns,  tramping 
through  the  thick  grass. 

"Here  we  be,  S'liny.'  That  thar 's  the  blazed 
tree.  We  're  jist  abaout  on  the  line  'twixt  the 
tew  half-sections,  where  we  stan'." 

"  This  is  home,  is  it  ?     Wai,  ferever  !  " 

And  Selina  looked  about  her  at  forest  and 
prairie  and  sky  and  solitude.  It  is  impossible 
to  tell  whether  she  meant  any  sarcasm  by  her 
words  or  not,  —  probably  not.  But  she  heaved 
a  deep,  unconscious  sigh. 

"  Zury,  the'  's  a  little  branch  starts  out  a  ways 
beyond  the  blazed  tree.  You  take  the  pail  V 
see  if  ye  kin  git  some  water,  V  find  a  place  t' 
water  the  stawk." 

After  Zury,  followed  by  the  faithful  Shep,  had 
gone  on  his  errand,  the  man  took  the  harness  off 
the  mares,  and  they  walked  off  a  few  steps,  lay 
down  and  took  a  refreshing  roll,  and,  concluding 
that  they  were  more  tired  than  hungry,  lay  still 
in  the  luxuriant  grass,  only  nibbling  at  what  they 
could  reach. 

"  Hand  me  daown  th'  old  muskit,  S'liny,  'n' 
I  '11  see  if  I  kin  start  a  fire."  * 

He  gathered  a  little  dry  grass  and  weeds,  and, 
putting  a  few  grains  of  powder  into  the  gun,  fired 
it  into  the  mass,  and  soon  had  a  smoky  blaze. 
(This  was  before  the  days  of  the  friction  match.) 


12  ZURY. 

"Why  didn't  ye  make  it  to  wind'ard  o'  th' 
wagin,  Ephr'm,  so  's  to  keep  off  the  skeeters  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Zury  he  kin  start  a  little  smudge  'mound 
thar.  We  '11  need  one  both  sides  afore  morn'n'." 

Then,  as  Zury  reappeared,  — 

"D'  ye  find  the  water?  That's  right;  'n'  ye 
brought  a  chunk  fer  the  fire,  —  that 's  saved  me  a 
trip.  Naow  drive  the.  stawk  daown  t'  the  branch, 
'n'  take  th'  axe  along  'n'  cut  a  couple  o'  crotches 
'n'  a  pole  to  hang  the  kittle  on  tew." 

"  Come,  Shep  ;  fetch  'em  along." 

The  cheerful  leap  and  bark  of  the  dog  starts 
up  the  resting  quadrupeds,  and  directs  them  all 
toward  the  place  he  and  his  master  have  just  ex 
plored.  He  knows  as  well  as  anybody  does  what 
is  wanted,  and  accomplishes  it  better  than  any 
body  else  could. 

When  they  come  back,  the  mares  and  the  cow 
are  turned  out,  and  allowed  to  graze  at  will,  be 
ing  restrained,  until  they  shall  get  to  be  "  way- 
wonted,"  from  straying  too  far  in  the  boundless 
waste  of  herbage  by  the  simple  device  of  tether 
ing  the  colts  and  calf. 

Soon  the  kettle  is  boiling,  the  inevitable  and 
inestimable  pot  of  green  tea  is  ready,  a  tiny  cup 
of  milk  is  provided. for  the  sick  girl,  the  bread 
and  ham  bought  at  Wayback  are  made  good  use 
oi  by  the  others,  the  additional  "  smudges  "  are 
built,  some  things  are  removed  from  the  wagon 
to  make  sleeping-room,  as  has  become  a  nightly 
custom,  and  all  hands  turn  in  to  their  familiar 
wagon-beds  and  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  weary. 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  SPRING   COUNTY.         13 

The  whippoorwills  keep  up  their  sad  and  cease 
less  calls,  the  tree-toads  their  wild  chatter,  and  all 
night  the  gentle  rustle  of  the  leaves  responds  to 
the  undying  breeze  of  the  Grand  Prairie. 

As  day  dawned,  the  prairie  reappeared,  cov 
ered  with  a  shallow  sea  of  silvery  fog ;  the  night 
sounds  ceased,  and  from  all  around,  near  and  far, 
came  the  sound  of  the  innumerable  prairie-chick 
ens,  the  miniature  crow  of  the  invisible  cocks,  — 
"  Kitticadoo,  cado-o-o-o ! " — in  ceaseless  repetition, 
now  near,  now  far,  in  humble  imitation  of  their 
more  belligerent  congeners  of  the  barn-yard. 

Before  "  sun-up  "  Ephraim  and  Zury  were  stir 
ring  about  in  the  heavy  dew,  freeing  one  of  the 
colts  which  had  got  entangled  in  its  tether  and 
nearly  ruined  for  life  (vastly  to  Shop's  pertur 
bation),  gathering  sticks  and  hickory  bark  for  a 
fire,  bringing  up  water,  and  so  forth.  Then,  for 
the  rest  of  the  day,  and  for  many  days  there 
after,  the  axes  of  father  and  son  were  heard  from 
dawn  to  dark,  felling,  trimming,  and  notching 
logs,  joists,  and  rafters  for  the  hut.  Next,  by  the 
help  of  the  now  refreshed  team,  they  had  to  be 
"  snaked  "  up  through  the  grass  to  the  place  se 
lected  for  a  building  site.  The  nearest  neighbor 
was  three  miles  away,  the  nearest  post-office  and 
store  six  miles. 

When  the  "raising  bee"  took  place,  the  re 
freshments  for  the  little  band  of  friendly  work 
ers  had  to  be  cooked  by  Selina  over  a  chip  fire 
in  the  jopen  air.  The  feast  consisted  of  boiled 
pork,  crackers,  molasses  and  water  with  a  dash  of 


14  ZURY. 

ginger,  coffee  sweetened  with  molasses,  and,  alas ! 
the  last  of  the  cherished  dried  apples  they  had 
brought  from  "home."  Not  another  atom  of  fruit 
did  they  see,  except  a  small  remnant  of  apples 
kept  for  "  the  babe,"  till  next  blackberry  har 
vest  ;  barring  a  few  wild  grapes  in  the  autumn, 
the  peculiarity  of  which  fruit  is  that  it  consists 
entirely  of  skin  and  bone,  and  very  little  of  them. 

After  the  raising,  the  rafters  had  to  be  cov 
ered  with  "  clapboards,"  split  from  straight  logs 
selected  and  cut  square  for  the  purpose.  These 
boards  were  held  up  by  stringers  laid  across  the 
rafters,  and  held  down  by  poles  laid  on  them  and 
weighted  with  sticks  and  stones ;  and,  to  do  them 
justice,  a  very  poor  roof  they  made,  after  all. 

Next,  the  chinks  in  the  walls  had  to  be  filled 
up  with  split  pieces  of  wood,  and  wet  clay  daubed 
in  all  the  crevices  within  and  without,  and  a  stick 
chimney  built  and  similarly  plastered.  Next  — 
hang  up  some  spare  bed-clothing  over  the  door  and 
window  openings ;  and  next,  move  into  the  floor- 
less,  lightless  shelter,  pile  your  few  household 
belongings  on  the  bruised  sod  of  the  interior, 
and  sit  down  and  be  thankful. 

A  hovel  ?  A  palace  to  those  who  have  con 
structed  it  with  their  own  hands,  and  now  occupy 
it,  after  having  made  a  covered  wagon  serve  as 
a  home  for  nearly  three  months. 

All  this  and  a  hundred  times  more,  which  no 
body  would  read  even  if  anybody  could  possibly 
write  it,  was  accomplished  by  the  able  and  will 
ing  father  and  son,  the  mother  being  chiefly  occu- 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  SPRING   COUNTY.         15 

pied  with  her  sickly  little  one.  As  soon  as  the 
household  stuff  was  discharged  from  the  wagon,  a 
load  of  boards  was  hauled  from  the  saw-mill,  and 
a  rough  door  and  a  rougher  window-blind  were 
knocked  together  and  hung  in  place  by  hinges 
made  from  hickory  withes.  Later,  the  window 
was  cross-barred  and  covered  with  greased  paper, 
which  admitted  a  little  light ;  and  as  soon  as  a 
two-inch  augur  could  be  borrowed,  a  hole  was 
bored  through  the  wall  by  the  side  of  the  fire, 
through  which  small  aperture  a  tiny  ray  of  light 
could  fall  on  Selina's  needles,  on  those  rare  occa 
sions  when  she  had  time  to  sit  down  and  devote 
herself  to  such  mere  luxury  as  knitting.  At  other 
times  the  hole  was  closed  by  a  plug. 

The  only  individual  of  the  four  travelers  who 
will  journey  on  with  us  all  through  our  story  is 
Zury,  the  boy.  His  parents,  by  some  means  we 
wot  not  of,  found  for  him  the  name  "  Usury," 
pronounced  with  the  accent  on  the  second  syl 
lable,  which  extraordinary  prenomen,  shortened 
to  "  Zury,"  has  played  a  great  part  in  Spring 
County  life  from  that  day  to  this,  and  will  bear  a 
proportionally  important  burden  in  these  chron 
icles. 

Zury  had  come  early  —  so  early  that  he  had 
forgotten  it  —  to  that  most  thrilling  experience 
in  every  fine  boy's  life,  the  discovery  that  he, 
too,  is  valuable  to  the  little  world  about  him. 
He  was  a  natural  worker,  a  seeker  after  chances 
to  be  useful,  his  ambition  always  outrunning  the 
demands  made  on  him.  When  he  could  be  lifted 


16  ZURY. 

on  a  horse  to  go  for  the  cows,  of  course  he  re 
belled  against  "  tending  baby  ; "  and  when  he 
could  plow,  he  despised  milking  and  the  other 
"  chores,"  but  he  did  them  all  the  same,  asking 
no  rest  save  the  rest  of  change  of  occupation. 
Achievement  sprang  from  his  mind  and  muscles  ' 
like  petroleum  from  a  flowing  well  :  the  only 
thing  needful  was  to  provide  channels  for  it. 

Frontier  life  was  what  he  needed  to  grow  in. 
Openings  for  hard  profitable  work  are  there 
plenty,  unmistakable,  and  tempting.  One  of  the 
ways  in  which  he  showed  his  enjoyment  of  the 
consciousness  of  power  was  a  natural  impatience 
of  control  or  interference,  a  brusque  self-assertion, 
a  rudeness  which  in  a  weaker  being  would  have 
been  intolerable.  Some  splendid  horses  will  balk 
if  you  check  or  guide  them,  though  at  their  own 
speed  and  in  their  own  fashion  they  will  cheer 
fully  do  more  than  anybody  could  ask  or  expect. 

So  sets  out  a  traveler  magnificently  equipped 
with  natural  gifts.  Let  us  see  how  circumstances 
favor,  or  dwarf,  or  distort  their  growth. 

Up  to  this  time  he  still  retained  a  few  boyish 
weaknesses,  —  not  love  of  play,  exactly,  except  as 
all  work  was  play  to  him,  but  a  love  for  ingenious 
devices  in  the  work  he  did,  and  a  busy  brain 
always  occupied  with  thoughts  of  such  devices 
and  of  other  things.  Of  course  he  was  an  indus 
trious  and  accomplished  whittler;  his  jack-knife 
was  always  at  hand  and  always  sharp,  and  in  the 
intervals  of  more  important  avocations  always 
busy.  His  colts  grew  up  "  ready  broke,"  or  near 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  SPRING   COUNTY.         17 

it;  they  began  to  help  him  almost  as  soon  as 
they  were  weaned.  His  horses  were  as  tame  as 
dogs,  and  (up  to  their  limited  intellects)  as  intelli 
gent.  As  he  would  say,  "  Hoss-flesh  is  cheaper  'n 
man-flesh.  Whenever  ye  kin  dew  back-work 
with  hoss-paower,  ye  're  a  makin'  money." 

Another  of  his  weaknesses  was  his  love  for  his 
helpless  sister.  It  was  a  yearning  fondness  in  direct 
proportion  to  his  strength  and  her  weakness.  If  he 
had  grown  weaker  or  she  stronger,  his  affection 
would  have  become  less  absorbing.  Of  course 
little  whittled  playthings  were  her  constant  com 
panions  on  the  bed-cover,  —  the  earth-floor  was  too 
damp  for  her,  —  and  mixed  with  them  were  lots 
of  vari-colored  birds'  eggs,  exquisitely  cleaned  by 
a  process  devised  by  Zury. 

The  first  eggs  he  brought  her  were  of  a  delicate 
pale  green,  and  formed  her  dear  delight  for  days. 
Her  little  hands,  more  delicate  than  the  eggs 
themselves,  fondled  them  with  a  tenderness  that 
kept  them  safe  from  breaking,  but  unhappily 
nothing  could  save  them  from  natural  decay. 

" What's  th'  matter,  Shoog?      Don't  'ee  cry." 

"  Oh,  my  eggies  got  spile't." 

"  Nem'  mind,  Sweety  ;  bub  '11  git  ye  s'  more 
t'morry ! " 

"No,  I  want  them." 

"  All  right.  Shoog  sh'll  have  'em  agin  t'mor- 
ry!" 

"Sure  enough?" 

"  Jest  's  sure  's  shootin'." 

So  the  little  sufferer  went  to  sleep  comforted. 


18  ZURY. 

Zury  took  the  eggs  and  tried  to  "  blow  "  them 
—  making  a  hole  in  each  end,  and  puffing  the 
contents  through  with  his  breath.  But  they  were 
too  delicate,  and  either  the  shell  broke  in  spite  of 
all  care  or  the  holes  were  so  big  that  the  beauty 
was  lost.  He  pondered  over  the  problem  long  and 
hard,  gazing  at  the  egg  he  held,  and  trying  to 
overcome  the  apparent  physical  impossibility. 

"  Could  n't  I  poke  in  suthV  ?  Not  hardly  ;  th' 
ain't  no  room.  Lessee  naow.  Ef  I  war  n't  so 
big,  I'd  jis'  crawl  inside  V  scoop  her  aout  good! 
Lessee  —  lessee  —  lessee.  Thar !  I  've  got  it !  " 

He  made  a  pin-hole  in  one  end  of  each  egg; 
and  with  the  first  streak  of  dawn  he  was  up  and 
out  hunting  for  an  ant-hill  he  had  before  observed, 
where  some  almost  infinitesimal  marvels  of  in 
dustry  in  formic  shape  were  always  busy  at  their 
incomprehensible  tasks.  Here  he  deposited  the 
eggs,  and  soon  saw  the  little  creatures  doing  his 
desired  work  in  a  manner  delightful  to  behold. 

"Where's  my  eggies?"  asked  a  sweet  little 
voice  when  he  came  in  for  his  breakfast. 

"  Brer  Zury  's  a-fixin'  on  'em.  Wait  till  noon- 
spell,  then  we  '11  see  !  " 

"  Sure  enough  ?  " 

"  Jest  's  sure  's  shootin'." 

With  much  difficulty  the  little  one  waited,  her 
faith  in  Brer  Zury  aiding  her  to  bear  the  im 
patience  of  childhood  and  invalidism.  (Her  habit 
of  doing  without  most  of  the  things  she  wanted 
being  also  a  helpful  influence,  alas  !) 

At  noon-spell  again  :  — 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  SPRING   COUNTY.         19 

"  Where 's  my  eggies  ?  " 

u  They 'm  a-comin'  along;   not  quite  done  yit." 

The  irrepressible  tears  would  start  at  this  fresh 
disappointment  ;  so  Zury  went  out  and  brought 
in  one  of  the  eggs,  with  a  small  army  of  the  little 
toilers  still  busy  about  it. 

"  Oh,  ferever  !     What 's  them  li'l  things  ?  " 

"  Them  's  ants  —  lee  tie  bugs  that  loves  eggs,  — 
'n'  they  'm  a  diggin'  on  'em  aout  fer  li'l  Shoog. 
See  'em  a-runnin'  in  'n'  aout  o'  th'  hoel  ?  Every 
one  't  conies  aout  's  got  a  leetle  grain  o'  stuff, 
see  ?  He  wants  t'  carry  it  daown  in  th'  ant-hole 
t'  feed  his  little  sisters,  —  only  sence  I  fetched  it 
away  he  can't  find  the  hoel  any  more." 

"  Oh,  take  it  back,  so  the'  kin  find  ther  li'l  sis 
ters  agin !  " 

So  all  the  long  afternoon  she  pleased  herself 
with  thinking  of  the  work  going  on  and  the  little 
sisters  being  fed.  At  night  Ziiry  brought  in 
another,  and  again  the  girl  was  impatient  to  have 
it  returned.  Then  when  the  shells  were  perfectly 
cleaned,  she  took  them  with  a  fresh  delight,  —  so 
pretty  and  so  pure  ;  and  so  light  that  she  could 
scarcely  feel  their  weight  in  her  fingers.  One 
poor  stray  ant  that  had  not  been  carried  back  she 
carefully  guarded  till  Zury  took  it,  with  the  prom 
ise  to  return  it  to  its  sorrowing  family,  which 
promise  he  faithfully  performed. 

On  another  day  he  came  with  a  new  plan  for 
the  amusement  of  his  darling. 

"  Brer  Zury 's  fixed  up  a  nice  swing  fer  li'l 
Shoog." 


20  ZURY. 

"  A  grape-vine  swing?  " 

"  Ya-as.  Dooz  she  wanter  come  aout  'n'  swing 
in  the  sunshine  a  leetle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  the  child ;  and,  wrapped  up 
in  all  the  poor  defenses  against  the  air  which 
their  limited  supplies  could  furnish,  Zury  carried 
her  out,  and  her  thread-like  fingers  grasped  the 
rough  vine  while  Zury  swung  her  in  short  and 
gentle  vibrations.  A  very  little  was  enough,  and 
they  hoped  for  more  strength  on  some  other  day. 
The  next  time  she  was  not  so  eager  to  make  the 
experiment ;  and  after  the  third  time  she  said, 
sweetly  smiling, — 

"  I  feel  so  much  better  to-day  th't  I  guess  I 
won't  hev  t'  go  aout  'n'  swing." 

And  she  swung  no  more. 


CHAPTER    II. 

TRIFLING  DOINGS   OF    LOW-DOWN  FOLKS. 

"  EPHRAIM,  could  n't  we  git  t'  git  some  stuff 
fr'm  the  sor-mill  fer  a  floor,  —  puncheons  er 
suth'n'?"  ("  Puncheons,"  or  "slabs,"  are  the 
side-cuts  from  logs  squared  for  sawing.) 

"  Wai,  S'liny,  ye  see,  th'  way  the  roads  is 
naow,  a  load  o'  puncheons  'd  take  a  day  t'  haul, 
'n'  would  n't  more  'n'  kiver  th'  spot  th'  bed  stan's 
on,  arter  all." 

"  Mebbe  the  babe  'd  dew  better  ef  she  worn't 
right  ontew  th'  bare  graound." 

The  old  man  sighed  wearily,  but  had  nothing 
to  say.  Zury  shortly  afterward  stopped  his  whit 
tling  and  went  out  into  the  darkness  ;  returning 
soon  with  his  axe  and  some  knotty  chunks  of  hard 
wood.  Then  he  proceeded  to  chop  and  shape 
them,  throwing  the  chips  into  the  fire  as  they 
accumulated  about  him. 

"  What  ye  'baout,  sonny  ?  " 

"  Makin'  some  gluts."  (Gluts  are  wooden 
wedges  used  in  rail-splitting.) 

"  What  fer  ?  " 

"  Split  s'm  boards  t'  lay  daown  fer  a  floor." 

"  The'  '11  all  warp  up." 

"  Mebbe  so,  mebbe  not." 


22  ZURY. 

"  The'  will,  sure  's  shootin'." 

"  Wai,  let  'em." 

Next  morning  at  early  dawn  they  could  hear 
his  axe  resounding  through  the  leafy  aisles,  and 
before  breakfast  two  trees  had  fallen  victims  to 
his  prowess. 

"  What  made  ye  pick  sech  small  ones,  Zury  ? 
Sh'  thought  ye  'd  a  made  a  better  outin'  ef  ye  'd  a 
tuk  big  uns,  like  the  one  we  got  t'  rive  the  clab- 
boards  out  of." 

"  Little  uns,  jest  split  in  tew,  'n'  laid  bark 
daown,  ain't  s'  liable  t'  warp  up,  I  guess." 

"  Jesso,  jesso.    Dunno  but  ye  're  right,  my  son." 

"  Yew  bet  I  'm  right,  dad  !  " 

The  trees  were  felled,  cut  in  lengths  equal  to 
the  width  of  the  room,  hauled  up,  and  split ;  then 
laid  athwart  the  hovel  in  furrows  carefully  hol 
lowed  out  of  the  ground  and  shaped  so  as  to 
bring  the  split  sides  to  something  like  a  level. 
How  beautiful  that  jagged  and  splintery  surface 
looked  to  those  four  pairs  of  eyes !  No  shining 
tessellated  tiles,  no  noiseless  velvety  carpet,  ever 
gave  more  heartfelt  delight.  The  mother  thought 
of  the  golden  pavement  of  the  heavenly  streets, 
but  of  course  she  kept  to  herself  the  foolish,  un 
practical  fancy. 

"  Ye  're  my  boy,  ain't  ye,  Zury  ?  " 

"  That 's  what  yew  allers  'llaowed,  mother,  so  I 
'llaow  it 's  so." 

"Mine  too,"  said  a  weak  little  voice  from  out 
the  bundle  of  bed-clothes  Zury  held  in  his  lap 
before  the  fire.  He  laid  his  rough,  bronzed  cheek 


TRIFLING  DOINGS  OF  LOW-DOWN  FOLKS.      23 

on  the  pale  forehead  and  damp  clinging  hair  of  the 
suffering  child,  but  did  not  speak. 

About  the  floor  they  none  of  them  said  much ; 
but  they  almost  hated  to  go  to  bed  and  lose  sight 
of  it.  They  slyly  peeped  down  at  it,  gleaming  in 
the  firelight,  during  the  short  interval  between 
their  lying  down  and  their  dropping  asleep ;  and 
in  the  morning  they  awoke  with  a  pleasurable 
start  at  the  returning  memory  that  the  precious 
floor  was  really  there,  awaiting  their  feet,  in  place 
of  the  damp  earth  they  had  been  accustomed  to. 

"  Naow  if  so  be  we  c'd  anyways  git  t'  git  th' 
haouse  banked  up  a  leetle,  we  'd  be  pootty  well 
fixed  fer  frost." 

"  Oh,  naow,  mammy,  ye 're  a-puttin'  on  scol 
lops  !  Don't  ye  want  a  pie-anner  ?  I  spose  ye 
'llaow  the  Queen  of  England  has  her  haouse 
banked  up,  besides  bein'  floored  ;  so  noth'n'  '11 
dew  but  yew  must  hev  yourn  done,  tew." 

"  Ye  're  the  boy  kin  dew  it,  Zury,  if  ye  wuz  t' 
git  sot  fer  it." 

"  Show  me  where  the'  's  a  mattick  sot  fer  t' 
loosen  the  dirt  with,  V  a  spade  sot  fer  t'  bank 
her  up  with,  V  I  'd  be  sot  fer  the  jawb  quick 
enough  ! " 

"  If  we  lived  back  in  God's  country,  we  c'd  git 
t'  borry  forty  matticks  'n'  spades." 

"  Did  n't  know  th'  used  'em  in  heaven  ;  thought 
likely  th'  c'd  dig  the  claouds  with  a  hat  er  a  tur 
key-tail." 

The  seed  of  suggestion  was  sown,  however,  and 
the  wise  mother  knew  her  son  well  enough  to  let 


24  ZURY. 

it  take  its  time  to  grow.  So  that  very  evening 
Zury  brought  in  a  neat  thin  piece  of  hard  wood, 
some  four  feet  long,  which  he  proceeded  to  hew 
into  some  kind  of  rough  spade-shape. 

"  She  11  split,  Zury,  sure  's  ye  're  born  !  " 

"  Mebbe  so,  dad,  mebbe  not." 

"  Ye  '11  see,  —  right  where  ye  got  t'  set  yer 
foot,  she  '11  split  square  off." 

"  Yew  jes'  hold  yer  hosses." 

"  Ye  can't  dig  nothin'  with  that  thar  slopin' 
tool,  —  no  place  t'  set  yer  foot  on,  V  so  all-fired 
long  in  the  bit." 

"  Din't  I  tell  ye  t'  Eol<3  yer  hosses?  " 

"  Lop-sidedest  tool  ever  I  see.  One  shoulder 
'baout  six  inches  higher  'n  t'other." 

Zury  did  not  deign  to  reply  to  this  taunt. 

"  Bain't  ye  a-goin'  t'  hew  that  shoulder  daown 
level  with  t'other  ?  " 

"  Guess  that  shoulder  's  'baout  right,"  answered 
the  youth,  who  delighted  in  mystifying  his  father. 

"  Wai,  ferever  !  "  said  the  mother. 

This  was  the  strongest  expression  Selina  ever 
indulged  in  ;  probably  it  was  a  contraction  and 
corruption  of  u  If  I  ever." 

Then  Zury  got  a  long  iron  rod  and  laid  it  in  the 
coals  to  heat,  while  he  went  on  smoothing,  sharp 
ening,  and  polishing  his  odd-looking  implement. 

"  Goin'  t'  brand  yer  name  ontew  it,  Zury  ?  " 

"  Yew  jest  wait  'n'  see  if  I  don't  put  my  mark 
on  it  so  ye  '11  know  it  any wher's." 

All  done,  and  the  iron  white  hot,  he  proceeded 
to  burn  a  hole  in  the  "  high-shouldered "  side, 


TRIFLING  DOINGS  OF  LOW-DOWN  FOLKS.      25 

just  the  right  shape  and  size,  and  in  just  the 
right  place  for  the  digger's  foot. 

"  Wai,  ferever  I  " 

"  Zury,  boy,  I  b'lieve  ye  c'd  make  a  clock  !  " 

"Ya-as,  with  my  axe,  V  my  jack-knife  V  a 
piece  o'  hot  iron." 

"  But,  arter  all 's  said  'n'  done,  that  ain't  no 
mattick  ner  no  pickaxe." 

"  Haow  d'  ye  'How  t'  loosen  up  the  sile,  sonny?" 

"  Wai,  the'  's  th'  old  axe." 

"  Th'  old  axe  !  Sho  t'  man  !  I  '11  'gree  t'  bank 
up  in  an  hour  all  the  dirt  th'  ole  axe  '11  loosen  up 
in  a  day  !  " 

"  Tell  ye  what,  dad,  if  I  '11  get  th'  dirt  ready, 
'11  yew  shovel  it  up  ?  " 

"What,  get  it  ready,  loose  enough  t'  handle 
with  that  thar  wooden  do-good  fixin'  o'  yourn  ?  " 

"  Ya-as,  good  'n'  loose." 

"  Go  ahead  ;  I  '11  bank  up  all  yew  '11  loosen." 

"  It 's  a  whack !  Remember,  all  the  dirt  I  '11 
turn  up  with  any  tool  I  've  got,  er  kin  make." 

It  was  a  "  whack,"  or  bargain  struck.  So, 
after  covering  up  the  fire  with  the  new  shovel, 
"  t'  harden  the  p'int,"  they  went  to  bed. 

Next  morning,  the  parents  looked  to  see  Zury 
"whaling  away"  with  the  old  axe,  laying  out  a 
large  job  of  shoveling  for  his  father ;  but  he  took 
things  much  as  usual,  did  his  "  chores,"  and  came 
in  for  his  breakfast. 

"Don't  'llaow  t'  donobankin'  up  t'-day,  sonny?" 

"Oh,  yes,  mammy;  'llaow  t'  give  dad  all  the 
shovelin'  he  wants  t'  tie  up  tew  this  arternoon." 


26  ZURY. 

Then  he  began  to  harness  the  mares. 

"  Goin'  off  t'  borry  a  mattick,  boy  ?  " 

44  No  ;  thought  I  'd  jist  hitch  'em  up  fer  a  leetle 
exercise." 

The  next  thing  they  saw  of  him  he  was  coming 
around  with  the  plow ;  and,  drawing  furrow  after 
furrow  about  the  house,  back  and  forth  and  cross 
wise,  he  easily  provided  all  the  loose  soil  the  bank 
ing  up  needed,  and  gave  his  father  all  the  work 
he  could  do  in  the  rest  of  two  days. 

"  Wai,  ferever  !  " 

Life  was  not  unbearably  hard  with  them  yet. 
The  beasts  could  get  ample  food  by  the  simple 
effort  of  wandering  off  for  it ;  the  house  could  be 
kept  quite  habitable  by  the  warmth  of  the  open 
fire ;  all  were  well  except  the  ailing  girl,  and  she 
could  still  sit  up  a  little  and  take  some  interest 
in  things,  especially  Zury  and  Shep.  But  the 
"  pinch  of  the  winter "  was  approaching.  The 
features  of  each  year  shrivel  up  and  grow  pale 
and  thin  and  wrinkled  as  it  nears  its  end. 

"  Don't  mommy's  honey  want  a  leetle  apple?" 

44 1  wuz  'feared  they  wuz  all  gone." 

44  Oh,  no ;  plenty  on  'em  left." 

Poor  Selina !  she  was  afraid  there  were  more 
of  them  than  her  little  '4 honey"  would  ever  eat, 
though  in  truth  they  had  dwindled  to  a  mere 
handful. 

44  There,  mommy  '11  hang  this  one  up  by  the 
string  afore  the  fire,  and  honey  can  take  this 
switch  and  keep  it  whirlin'  while  it  cooks." 

So  the  little  one  would  watch  the  circling  and 


TRIFLING  DOINGS  OF  LOW-DOWN  FOLKS.      27 

hissing  fruit  for  long,  long  spells,  and  then  her 
mother  would  make  it  as  tempting  as  possible  to 
the  waning  appetite  of  the  invalid. 

"  Now,  remember  to  save  all  the  seeds  fer 
Brer  Zury." 

This  was  an  added  incentive  to  stout  efforts  to 
eat ;  for  if  she  did  not  eat  the  apple,  how  could 
she  give  the  seeds  to  brother  Zury  ? 

"  Ephraim,  if  we  could  only  manage  t'  squeeze 
out  a  leetle  pay  fer  the  doctor,  mebby  he  'd 
come  oftener,  V  bring  s'm  stronger  physic.  I 
kin  see  the  babe  's  better  every  time  he  gives  her 
suth'n'." 

The  next  time  the  doctor  came,  Selina  gave 
him  her  wedding-ring  as  a  substitute  for  money. 
Thereafter  he  often  dropped  in,  and  always  left 
some  anodyne,  or  stimulant,  or  tonic,  to  deceive 
the  parents  with  a  show  of  relief. 

"  Thar ;  wha  'd  I  tell  ye !  See  haow  she  sleeps ! 
Hain't  slep'  like  that  sence  last  time  he  wuz  h'yer! 
If  we  only  hed  a  plenty  o'  that  same  stuff,  so 's  we 
could  keep  her  right  up  tew  it !  " 

They  did  break  a  little  prairie  that  season, 
though  it  was  too  late  to  put  in  any  crop.  They 
called  it  twelve  acres,  but  it  wasn't.  They 
thought  they  could  get  it  fenced  before  frost,  but 
they  could  n't.  They  hoped  for  a  mild  winter, 
but  it  proved  a  severe  one  :  for  years  afterward 
it  was  remembered,  and  in  bitter  jest  was  styled 
"  the  year  eighteen-hundred-and-froze-to-death." 
They  felt  almost  sure  of  sustaining  their  beasts 
till  the  spring  grass  should  start,  but  one  of  the 


28  ZURY. 

mares  died.  They  resolved  not  to  mortgage  any 
of  their  land,  but  they  were  disappointed. 

It  was  this  way  :  The  little  girl,  who  might 
have  lived,  and  even  thriven,  in  a  warm,  rich 
and  comfortable  city  home,  could  not  bear  the 
cruelty  of  her  environments,  and  died  after  long, 
quiet  suffering. 

How  slow  Death  was  in  finishing  his  work  that 
night !  Long  after  the  beloved  eyes  had  turned 
up  out  of  sight,  the  poor  little  chest  kept  on,  gasp 
succeeding  gasp,  the  heart-broken  mother  praying 
that  each  might  be  the  last.  Ephraim  had  fallen 
asleep  by  the  fire,  and  Zury  had  fled  out  into  the 
pitiless  snow-storm  —  the  black  fury  in  his  heart 
outvieing  the  white  blast  about  his  head.  At  last 
Selina  laid  her  hand  on  her  husband's  shoulder 
and  answered  his  questioning  look  with  a  nod. 
He  called  Zury  in  from  the  path  which  his  tramp 
ing  had  kept  open  in  the  snow,  and  both  men 
sat  by  the  fireside  till  morning,  while  Selina 
straightened  the  wasted  limbs,  put  on  the  poor 
girl's  poor  best  clothes,  tied  up  the  sharp  chin 
and  closed  the  eyes  with  —  something.  They 
had  no  coins  to  lay  on  the  lids. 

The  whole  family  had  not  money  enough,  nor 
even  credit  enough,  to  provide  a  coffin  for  the  child. 
Then  the  poor  vanquished  father  went  to  the  vil 
lage,  and  gave  the  store-keeper  a  mortgage  on  one 
of  his  cherished  quarter  sections,  and  thus  estab 
lished  a  credit  which  relieved  their  direst  needs. 
He  drove  back  home  with  the  little  coffin,  and  in 
it  and  around  it  food  and  clothing  that  seemed 


TRIFLING  DOINGS   OF  LOW-DOWN  FOLKS.      29 

luxurious  in  their  destitution.  The  grief-stricken 
mother  did  not  reproach  anybody  for  that  the  re 
lief  came  only  after  her  darling  was  gone. 

There  was  no  funeral.  Nobody  could  reach 
them  through  the  pathless  snow.  There  was  not 
even  a  burial  until  spring  thawed  the  ground  so 
that  a  grave  could  be  dug.  Ephraim  tried  it,  but 
it  was  like  picking  at  a  bed  of  sandstone.  Then 
Zury  cleared  the  snow  off  a  little  space,  and  built 
there  a  huge  fire,  to  soften  the  obdurate  bosom  of 
mother  earth,  hardened  against  thus  untimely  re 
ceiving  back  her  own.  He  kept  it  going  far  into 
the  night ;  but  the  wind  rose  and  the  snow  flew 
again  before  morning,  so  that  when  day  broke 
there  was  only  a  fresh  white  drift  where  the  fire 
had  been.  Then  they  fixed  two  crotched  sticks 
against  the  back  of  the  house,  and  set  the  lit 
tle  coffin  on  them,  where  it  remained  until  April 
came,  and  with  it  a  day  sufficiently  humane  to  al 
low  death  the  rights  which  even  death  possesses. 

Selina  could  not  get  around  the  house  through 
the  drifts ;  but  she  learned  the  place  where  they 
had  set  up  the  supports,  and  could  go  and  rest  her 
face  against  the  corresponding  spot  inside  — when 
no  one  was  looking. 

At  the  death  of  his  sister,  Zury's  grief  was 
passionate  and  heart-rending.  This  surprised  the 
mother,  who  had  not  credited  him  with  so  much 
love  and  tenderness.  In  fact,  it  startled  her  out 
of  some  of  her  own  sorrow.  She  had  looked  the 
coming  disaster  in  the  face  so  long  as  to  be  better 
prepared. 


30  ZURY. 

A  veil  must  be  drawn  over  the  sufferings  of 
that  first  winter.  The  reader  would  resent  the 
tale,  if  fully  told,  as  being  beyond  the  pale  of 
presentable  narrative.  After  Zury's  outburst  of 
feeling,  he  settled  down  into  a  stony  hardness. 
Those  tears  for  his  "baby"  sister  were  the  last 
tears  he  shed  for  many  a  year.  It  was  as  if  the 
fountain  had  filled  up  and  run  over  a  few  drops, 
and  then  frozen  solid.  All  this  poverty,  toil,  and 
distress,  and  the  terrible  need  for  money,  made 
a  deep  impression  on  the  forming  mind  of  the 
youth  ;  and  being  of  a  logical  turn,  he  "  put  this 
and  that  together,"  and  drew  conclusions  fitted  to 
the  premises  as  he  saw  them.  Money  was  life ; 
the  absence  of  money  was  death.  "All  that  a 
man  hath  will  he  give  for  his  life  ;  "  ergo  all  that 
a  man  hath  will  he  give  for  money. 

The  axe  is  the  vade  mecum  of  the  pioneer.  As 
we  use  it,  it  is  strictly  an  American  tool.  Long 
in  the  handle,  perfectly  fitted  to  the  grasp,  free 
and  quick  in  the  great  curve  it  makes  from  far 
above  and  behind  the  head  clear  down  to  the 
ground  in  front,  it  has  a  grace  and  effectiveness 
much  in  advance  of  the  short,  heavy  "  woodman's 
axe  "  of  other  countries.  The  accomplished  West 
ern  axeman  strikes  his  blow  with  an  exactness  of 
aim  that  is  literally  "  to  a  hair,"  and  a  vigor  and 
quickness  of  repetition  delightful  to  behold. 

One  inclement  day,  Ephraim  and  Zury  went  to 
Wayback  together,  so  that  one  could  turn  the 
(borrowed)  grindstone  while  the  other  held  the 


TRIFLING  DOINGS  OF  LOW-DOWN  FOLKS.      31 

axes  and  restored  them  to  the  razor-like  quality 
they  ought  always  to  possess.  The  enforced 
idleness  of  the  season  had  brought  quite  a  large 
gathering  of  men  and  boys  to  "the  store,"  and 
Tom  Lackner,  the  store-keeper,  improved  the  oc 
casion  by  getting  up  a  chopping  contest  for  the 
amusement  of  the  public  and  the  benefit  of  his 
wood-pile,  which  consisted  of  a  huge  mass  of  logs 
of  various  lengths,  all  too  long  and  large  for  use 
without  cutting  and  splitting. 

"  See  h'yer,  boys,  I  'bserve  ye  kin  all  cut  lots 
o'  wood  jest  a-settin'  'raound  the  stove  'n'  talkin' 
abaout  it ;  who  kin  cut  the  most  with  an  axe  ?  " 

Hereupon  arose  a  wordy  war,  each  showing  how 
well  he  could  wield  the  axe  or  the  long  bow. 

"  Wai,  chin-music  is  cheap,  but  the  longest 
pole  takes  the  persimmon.  I  '11  give  a  dollar  t' 
the  boy  er  man  that  kin  cut  'n'  split  the  most 
wood  outer  my  wood-pile  in  an  hour  by  the  clock. 
All  split  wood,  mind ;  no  twigs  'n'  saplin's." 

"  Oh,  ain't  ye  cunnin',  'n'  ain't  ye  kind  !  Haow 
much  '11  th'  other  fellers  git,  th't  comes  aout 
second  'n'  third  'n'  so  on  ? " 

"  Wai,  I  '11  give  them  day- wages,  —  a  bit  an 
hour." 

"  Haow  '11  ye  pay  ?  " 

"  The  dollar  man  in  store-truck,  th'  rest  in 
cash." 

"  Good  enough  !  Then  all  '11  git  abaout  the 
same,  th'  way  yew  charge  fer  yer  truck  !  " 

At  this  hit  all  laughed;  but  the  upshot  was 
that  some  half  a  dozen  entered  into  the  friendly 


32  ZURY. 

contest,  Zury  among  the  rest.  Each  selected  his 
log,  —  such  a  one  as  he  thought  would  about 
last  him  the  hour.  Zury  observed  that  all  passed 
by  a  short,  thick  black- walnut,  too  formidable  to 
be  attractive.  He  carefully  studied  the  two  ends, 
measured  the  diameter  with  his  eye,  and  called 
his  father  into  consultation. 

"  Dad  —  ye  see  that  thar  season-check  in  the 
butt-end?  Cut  daown  t'  that  V  she'll  'most 
split  herself,  V  one  cut  threw  that  lawg  '11 
gimme  tew  chunks  short  enough  t'  split  up. 
Them  long  ones,  ye  got  t'  make  a  threw  cut  fer 
every  chunk  ye  git  aout  till  ye  come  tew  th'  last." 

"  Kin  ye  fetch  it  in  an  haour,  Zury  ?  " 

"  Kin  I  ?  I  '11  dew  it  er  die  a-tryin' !  Yew 
jest  watch  me !  Take  yer  axe  V  hew  aout  a 
couple  o'  gluts ;  but  don't  dull  th'  axe,  fer  the 
land's  sake  !  I  '11  swap  axes  with  ye  when  I  'in 
half  done." 

"  Now,  boys  !  "  shouted  Tom  Lackner,  pulling 
out  his  watch  and  affecting  to  pause  for  the  exact 
second.  "  Be  ye  all  ready  ?  " 

"  Ya-as  !  " 

"Good  V  ready?" 

"  Ya-as  —  ya-as  !  " 

"  Then  spit  on  yer  hands  !  "  He  was  laugh 
ingly  and  heartily  obeyed.  After  further  jocular 
delays  and  disappointments  he  yelled,  "  Now 
GO!" 

How  the  chips  flew !  The  connoisseurs  gath 
ered  around  one  contestant  or  another  as  sympathy 
or  admiration  dictated ;  but  the  largest  number 


TRIFLING  DOINGS  OF  LOW-DOWN  FOLKS.      33 

kept  their  eyes  fixed,  admiringly,  on  Zury  and  the 
most  able  of  his  rivals. 

"  Every  other  pop  fetches  a  chip !  " 

"  Ya-as,  'n'  he  don't  never  cut  his  chips  in 
tew.  See  haow  clean  th'  edges  be  !  " 

"  Yew  bet !  He  ain't  the  feller  t'  waste  three 
clips  on  one  chip  !  " 

When  Zury  had  cut  his  log  half  through  he 
hopped  down,  seized  one  of  the  gluts  his  father 
had  prepared,  set  it  instantly  into  the  exact  spot 
in  the  "  season-check,"  struck  it  a  few  mighty 
blows,  and  the  monster  log  parted  in  the  middle, 
leaving  him  a  clean  place  for  the  remaining  cross 
cut. 

"  Some  head-work  's  well  's  hand  work  in  Zury, 
boys ! " 

"  Ain't  he  chain-lightnin'  ?  " 

"I'll  bet  ye!" 

Now  with  the  fresh  axe  (which  his  father  had 
rubbed  on  a  whetstone  after  shaping  the  gluts), 
he  fairly  flew  at  his  work.  Faster  and  faster  fell 
the  strokes :  he  was  in  a  frenzy  of  hope  and  emu 
lation.  The  second  cross-cut  was  complete ;  the 
two  gluts  were  set  and  driven ;  both  axes  put  in 
play,  one  sunk  deep  in  the  widening  rift  until  the 
other  liberated  it  by  going  in  deeper  ;  and  at  last 
the  second  and  more  difficult  "  chunk  "  gave  way 
and  lay  in  two  shining  aromatic  halves  of  solid 
black  walnut.  The  rest  was  easy;  the  foe, being 
driven  from  his  stoutest  defenses,  made  but  little 
resistance,  and  before  "time"  was  called  Zury 
had  what  looked  like  a  whole  cord  of  solid  split 


34  ZURY. 

black  walnut  sticks  of  appropriate  length  and 
thickness. 

He  straightened  up  and  took  his  eyes  off  his 
work  for  the  first  time. 

"  Thar !  That 's  all  I  kin  dew  !  If  any  feller 's 
done  better,  /can't  help  it!" 

But  no  one  had  done  better,  or  as  well.  The 
next  best  man  —  six  feet  four,  wielding  an  extra 
weight  axe  with  an  extra  long  helve  —  had  done 
more  work,  but  he  had  not  used  as  shrewd  plans 
to  help  him,  and  he  made  only  a  good  second. 

Tom's  eyes  glistened  as  he  saw  the  six  great 
piles  of  cut  wood  ready  for  his  use,  and  he  paid 
up  his  promised  guerdons  with  great  good  humor. 
Zury  took  his  dollar  in  the  shape  of  a  grind 
stone,  which  would  thereafter  save  him  and  his 
father  from  many  a  long  journey,  or,  what  was 
worse,  many  an  hour  of  work  impaired  by  dull 
ness  of  tools.  Tom  would  have  liked  to  add 
something  to  Zury's  pay,  except  that  he  feared  to 
arouse  jealousy  in  the  breasts  of  others  who  had 
also  done  their  best.  Luckily  his  eyes  fell  upon 
a  bundle  of  papers  which  had  accumulated  in  the 
shelves  adjoining  the  post-office  desk. 

"  Sa-ay,  Zury;  aour  Member  o'  Congress  he's 
sent  me  aout  by  frank  a  hull  heap  o'  numbers 
o'  th'  'Republican,'  t'  dew  what  I'm  a  min'  ter 
with,  fer  the  good  o'  th'  party,  V  t'  help  him  git 
reflected.  Folks  hez  helped  themselves  all  th' 
wanted  tew,  but  yit  the1  's  a  lot  of  old  numbers 
left.  Don't  ye  wanter  clean  'em  aout  ?  " 

"  Free  gratis  ?  " 


TRIFLING  DOINGS  OF  LOW-DOWN  FOLKS.      35 

"  Oh,  ya-as  — '  gratuitous  distribution  '  wuz 
whut  he  'llaowed  in  his  letter." 

"  O.  K.     Thet  's  th'  kind  o'  tradin'  suits  me," 

So  he  carried  home  a  large  bundle  of  "  Repub 
licans,"  full  of  tales,  continued  stories,  political  ar 
ticles,  news  from  abroad,  advertisements,  riddles, 
jokes,  and  such  like  familiar  newspaper  scraps. 
The  inner  sides  of  the  logs  of  their  house  were 
already  hewn  to  something  like  a  flat  surface,  and 
Zury,  as  he  found  the  opportunity,  papered  the 
whole  interior  with  the  neat,  cheap,  and  cheerful 
hangings ;  and  afterward,  whenever  time  and  day 
light  served,  his  favorite  pastime  was  reading  the 
wit  and  wisdom  thus  spread  about  him.  He  had 
some  sad  experiences,  as  when  in  the  most  thrill 
ing  part  of  an  exciting  tale  he  came  to  the  dread 
words,  " continued  in  our  next;"  and  the  "next  " 
happened  not  to  have  been  among  those  which 
had  been  given  him !  For  years  one  of  these  un 
finished  narratives  haunted  him  (he  not  being  a 
sufficiently  experienced  novel-reader  to  complete  it 
for  himself),  and  he  would  return  wistfully  to  the 
familiar  corner  where  that  tantalizing  mystery 
was  stated,  never  in  the  world  to  be  solved ! 

The  tale  was  delightfully  commonplace  and 
improbable,  one  of  the  old-fashioned  simple- 
hearted  kind,  that  might  have  been  written  by 
machinery,  run  out  by  the  mile,  and  cut  off  in 
lengths  to  suit.  A  boy,  "  born  of  poor  but 
respectable  parents  in  the  little  town  of  B.,"  was 
good,  and  strong,  and  willing,  and  ambitious. 
But,  alas,  he  could  not  get  any  education  to  speak 


36  ZURY. 

of  because  he  had  to  work  so  hard,  and  his  father 
was  too  poor  to  give  him  clothes  fit  for  school. 
The  first  time  he  tried  schooling,  the  other  boys 
laughed  at  his  rags ;  he  fought  with  the  biggest 
and  whipped  him,  —  but  he  never  went  back  to 
school.  He  ran  away  to  sea ;  his  ship  was  cast 
away  on  an  uninhabited  island,  where  his  farming 
knowledge  and  his  mechanical  ingenuity  made 
him  the  salvation  of  the  whole  company  including 
the  captain's  lovely  daughter.  "  For  a  full  account 
of  his  shrewd  doings  and  his  ingenious  contriv 
ances  on  the  island,  the  rescue  of  all  hands,  his 
education,  his  marriage,  and  the  glorious  height 
from  which  he  looked  back  on  his  early  discour 
agements,  the  reader  must  look  to  our  next." 
And  there  was  no  next ! 

When  Selina  saw  the  rough  walls  thus  deco 
rated  and  humanized  she  said,  for  the  first  time 
since  her  bereavement,  — 

"  Wai,  ferever  !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 


COKN-CROP. 

"  EPHRAIM,  what  '11  yer  crap  dew  withaout  no 
fence  ?  " 

"Dunno." 

"  No  fence,  no  crap,"  said  Zury.  Then  after 
a  pause  Selina  said,  — 

"  Haow  much  fence  '11  it  take  t'  go  raound 
them  twelve  acres  ?  " 

"  Th'  ain't  no  twelve  acres,  mammy  ;  but  it  '11 
take  a  good  half  milcj  of  fence,"  said  Ephraim. 

"  'N'  forty  acres  '11  take  a  full  mild,"  added  the 
boy. 

"  Forty  acres,  sonny  !  " 

"  Yes,  mammy  ;  I  said  forty  acres,  V  I  meant 
it,  tew  !  A  mild  o'  fence,  pig-tight,  bull-strong, 
'n'  boss-high." 

"A  mild  o'  fence!" 

"  Yes,  a  mild  o'  fence  —  if  the  timber  holds 
out."  And  he  gave  a  jerk  of  the  head  over  to 
ward  the  forest  where  millions  of  trees  were  to 
be  had  for  the  hauling. 

"  Guess  ye '11  wear  yer  axe  daown  tew  a  pen 
knife  'fore  ye  split  all  them  rails  I  " 

"  Yew  '11  see  !  " 


38  ZURY. 

So  Zury  fell  to  work  at  the  task  of  providing  a 
whole  mile  of  fencing  material.  Part  of  this  was 
prepared  in  a  way  worth  describing.  He  would 
find  a  long,  prostrate  tree-trunk  in  the  woods, 
dry  but  not  rotten,  the  victim  of  some  storm  or 
lightning  stroke  of  past  years.  This  he  would 
measure  off  in  about  twenty-foot  lengths,  and  at 
the  end  of  each  length  he  would  build  a  fire, 
which,  patiently  attended  to  and  replenished, 
would  sever  the  log  at  that  point,  leaving  it  in 
lengths  which  could  be  hauled  by  a  stout  team 
over  the  snow  to  the  place  where  they  might  be 
needed.  This  method  of  severing  logs  is  called 
in  the  vernacular  "  niggering  them  off,"  whether 
because  of  its  laziness,  or  of  the  blackness  of  the 
resulting  heads,  cannot  be  certainly  stated.  It  is 
certainly  ingenious  and  effective.  Zury,  start 
ing  in  the  morning  with  his  axe  a,nd  a  burning 
brand,  could  light  and  attend  to  some  thirty  fires, 
and  so  prepare  thirty  logs,  while  he  would  have 
been  chopping  only  a  quarter  as  many.  To  be 
sure,  there  would  be  disappointments,  as  when 
the  fire,  through  excess  of  zeal  in  doing  its  part 
of  the  work,  would  burn  the  log  all  up,  while 
Zury  was  at  home  asleep. 

Now  at  once,  before  the  snow  failed  them, 
these  logs  ought  to  be  "snaked"  up  to  the 
plowed  field  and  laid  end  to  end  around  it,  so 
that  it  would  be  half  fenced  at  once.  Then  a 
couple  of  lines  of  "  stake-and-rider  "  on  top  of  the 
logs  would  make  a  good  barrier  against  all  ma 
rauders  except  the  deer,  which  were  still  at  that 


ZURY  "NIGGERING"  LOGS.  39 

day  a  great  nuisance  among  the  scattered  corn 
fields  of  Illinois,  and  which  could  clear  any  fence. 
But  then,  one  horse,  alone,  was  helpless.  What 
was  to  be  done  ? 

"  Dad,  ye  better  git  three  more  bosses,  'n' 
gears,  'n'  a  bob-sled,  'n'  another  plaow,  'n'  some 
seed-corn,  'n'  a  saow  'n'  pigs,  'n'  a  stack  o'  hay, 
'n'  a  load  o'  mill-feed  fer  the  stawk,  'n7  some 
floorin '-stuff,  'n'  —  one  thing  another." 

"  'N'  yew  'llaow  t'  pay  fer  'em,  I  s'pose." 

u  I  'llaow  t'  dew  my  share." 

The  old  man  groaned  in  spirit,  fer  he  saw  that 
this  meant  a  mortgage  on  another  of  his  cher 
ished  quarter-sections,  and  he  saw  that  his  son 
was  right,  too. 

"  Faoun'  a  pot  o'  gold,  Zury  ?  " 

"  Hain't  quite  faound  it  yet,  mammy,  but  it 's 
buried  up  in  the  paraira  yunder." 

44  Take  a  heap  o'  diggin'  t'  git  it  aout." 

"With  one  hoss  it  will." 

"  Wha'  'd  ye  'llaow  t'  dew  ?  " 

"  Snake  up  the  lawgs  'raoun'  the  hull  forty-acre 
piece,  'n'  saplin's  enough  t'  stake-'n'-rider  'em,  'n' 
git  the  balance  inter  sod-corn  somehaow." 

"  Wai,  son,  ef  yew  kin  stand  it,  I  kin." 

So  another  quarter  was  mortgaged,  and  the 
things  Zury  wanted  were  obtained ;  the  swine 
from  a  neighbor  on  credit.  The  youth  felt  his 
responsibility,  and  worked  twelve  or  fourteen 
hours  daily,  even  when  the  daylight  was  less  than 
nine  hours  long.  The  glittering  steel-gray  light 
of  many  a  zero-morning  found  him  already  at  his 


40  ZURY. 

fires.  All  day  long  his  axe  rang  through  the 
frosty  air  as  he  felled  saplings  for  the  fence  and 
stripped  them  for  fuel  for  the  "  niggering  "  fires, 
and  then  it  was  long  after  night-fall  before  he 
tramped  homeward  through  the  deep  gloom  of 
the  silent  woods,  the  frosty  snow  squealing  loudly 
under  his  footsteps. 

Old  Ephraim  was  fully  occupied  with  the  home 
duties,  —  caring  for  his  almost  helpless  wife  and 
almost  perishing  live-stock,  and  providing  fuel  for 
the  voracious  open  fire  that  must  be  kept  going 
night  and  day  on  the  hearth  to  make  life  even 
barely  possible.  He  dragged  the  back-logs  up  to 
the  door,  and  even  into  the  house,  with  a  horse. 
Zury  did  his  timber  work,  as  far  as  possible,  in  the 
woods  close  to  the  homestead.  In  the  first  place 
it  made  less  hauling  for  the  heavy  logs  ;  then,  be 
sides,  he  reasoned, — 

"  Th'  ain't  no  better  place  fer  trees  th'n  whar 
trees  hez  growed." 

This  indicated  the  wild  scheme  his  long  head 
had  in  contemplation,  —  an  apple  orchard !  He 
had  the  little  pocket  of  seeds  the  poor  "  baby  " 
had  saved  for  him,  and  some  he  had  himself  saved 
thus  :  he  one  day  found,  in  a  broken  jug  on  the 
one  board  that  served  as  a  kitchen  shelf,  the  ap 
ples  his  sister  had  not  lived  long  enough  to  eat, 
—  eight  shriveled  relics.  Zury  said  nothing,  but 
carefully  separated  the  seeds,  and  adding  them  to 
the  rest,  had  nearly  four  hundred. 

"  Like  enough  half  on  'em  '11  spraout.  Seed 
lings  ain't  no  sure  thing  t'  fetch  good  fruit,  but 


ZURY  "NIGGERING"  LOGS.  41 

mebbe  some  on  'em  '11  be  O.  K.,  'n'  then  we  kin 
graft  fr'm  them  onter  th'  others.  Apples  '11  fetch 
money  h'yer.  Th'  ain't  no  money,  but  yet  the'  's 
more  money  th'n  the'  's  apples." 

Then  in  building  his  u  niggering "  fires  he 
would  often  please  himself  with  the  fancy,  — 

"  That  row  o'  ash-heaps  '11  come  jest  right  fer  a 
row  o'  apple-trees." 

Shep  was  Zury's  only  companion  through  these 
long,  cold  work-days,  and  he  proved  his  physical 
superiority,  as  compared  with  his  human  friends, 
by  keeping  fat  and  happy  through  it  all ;  catch 
ing  many  a  rabbit  for  his  own  tooth,  and  even 
some  for  Zury  to  carry  home  to  eke  out  the  slen 
der  stores  of  the  household  and  vary  the  fare  for 
the  suffering  mother.  Zury  always  carried  his 
rifle,  and  hoped  for  deer,  as  the  tracks  where 
they  scraped  the  snow  for  grazing  and  brushed 
the  trees  for  browsing  were  everywhere  plenti 
ful.  But  the  sound  of  his  axe  and  the  smoke  of 
his  fires  tended  to  keep  them  at  a  distance  ;  also 
the  wild  turkeys  that  roamed  the  woods  in  great 
broods,  long  of  limb,  fleet  of  foot,  wary  and  wily. 

However,  one  morning  before  day,  when  his 
snow-muffled  footsteps  approached  the  nearest  of 
the  fires,  he  chanced  to  catch  sight  of  a  pair  of 
gleaming  eyeballs  while  he  himself  was  still  in 
shadow.  Keeping  Shep  quiet  behind  him,  he 
crept  cautiously  up  to  where  he  could  rest  his 
rifle  on  a  log,  drew  his  "  bead,"  and  pulled  trig 
ger.  The  sharp  crack  echoed  from  hill  to  hill,  far 
up  and  down  the  lonely  bottom,  white  and  still 


42  ZURY. 

in  the  bitter  dawn.  Shep  bounded  forward,  and, 
his  yelps  becoming  stationary,  Zury  guessed  that 
his  game  was  secured.  He  soon  arrived,  breath 
less  with  haste  and  hope,  at  the  place  where  Shep 
in  a  passion  of  excitement  was  keeping  guard  over 
a  fine  buck,  —  rather  thin,  to  be  sure,  but  splen 
did  game  for  an  Eastern  boy  who  had  never  be 
fore  had  a  shot  at  anything  more  worthy  than  a 
rabbit.  While  he  was  bleeding  the  game,  drag 
ging  it  back  to  his  working  place,  and  hanging 
it  up  on  a  convenient  sapling,  the  day  broke,  and 
his  father  came  down,  having  heard  the  unaccus 
tomed  sound  of  the  rifle,  and  missed  hearing  the 
accustomed  sound  of  the  axe. 

"  You  Zury !     Any  thin'  the  matter  ?" 

"NothV  much." 

"Wha"d  ye  shoot  at?" 

"Deer." 

"  Missed  it,  did  ye  ?  " 

"  Tew  missed  it !  Look  a  yonder  on  the  sap- 
linV 

"  Wai,  wal !  I  will  say  !  Better  n't  I  pack  it 
up  t'  the  haouse  'n'  skin  it  afore  it  freezes?" 

"  Jest 's  yew  say  'baout  that." 

"  Better  come  up  noon-spell  'n'  have  a  bite  o' 
venison." 

"  No.     Got  my  dinner  with  me." 

"  Better  come  up,  sonny." 

"  No  time." 

So,  Zury  did  not  quit  work  a  single  minute 
earlier  than  usual. 

Now  came  the  long,  tough  job  of  "  snaking " 


ZURY  "NIGGERING"  LOGS.  43 

the  logs  up  to  the  prairie  and  around  "the  forty," 
a  mile  in  circumference.  This  was  hardly  finished 
before  the  snow  went  off,  and  the  ground  thawed 
into  deep  mud.  Then  the  live  stock  began  to  be 
able  to  shift  for  itself,  and  none  too  soon,  for  the 
little  hay  they  had  laid  up  was  gone. 

Ephraim  proposed  a  "  log-rollin'," — a  bee  (like 
the  raising-bee),  where  all  well-disposed  neighbors 
might  join  in  a  day's  work  for  one,  expecting  him 
to  reciprocate  when  any  of  them  had  occasion  to 
ask  for  public  aid  in  the  same  fashion.  (This  is 
the  origin  of  the  phrase  "log-rolling,"  used  in 
political  slang  ;  the  several  parties  interested  in 
divers  men  or  measures  making  common  cause 
for  the  common  gain.) 

"  No,  dad.  We  hain't  paid  'em  nothin'  fer 
comin'  t'  aour  raisin',  'n'  hain't  no  time  t'  spare 
t'  be  a  paradin'  raound,  anyhaow." 

"  I  don't  see,  nohaow,  what  I  c'd  git  up  fer  'em 
t'  feed  'em." 

"  Jesso,  jesso,  wife  ;  but  I  dunno  's  I  see  haow 
we  'm  a  goin'  t'  git  all  them  lawgs  in  line." 

"  Oh,  you  'n'  me  'n'  th'  four  hosses  '11  be  bee 
enough!  We'll  roll  'em,  or  break  a  leg, — one  o' 
th'  tew !  "  said  his  son. 

Snow  or  no  snow,  mud  or  no  mud,  Zury  worked 
on,  dragging  and  rolling  the  logs  into  place  on  the 
fence-line.  He  would  take  one  horse  in  the  morn 
ing  and  work  him  till  noon,  winding  the  log-chain 
around  each  log,  and  making  the  horse  roll  it  into 
its  position  ;  then  leave  that  horse  to  graze  or 
"browse  around,"  while  he  used  another  in  the 


44  ZURY. 

afternoon,  in  the  same  way.  Thus  did  this  one 
young  fellow  move  weights  which  several  strong 
men  might  have  "tackled"  in  vain. 

The  "  chinkin'  in  "  between  the  ill-matched 
ends  of  the  "  niggered  "  logs  and  the  setting  of 
the  stakes  and  riders  occupied  Ephraim  and 
Zury  while  the  ground  was  getting  dry  enough  to 
plow.  Then  the  piece  they  had  broken  up  during 
the  previous  fall  was  plowed,  and  corn  regularly 
planted,  and  all  the  remainder  of  the  inclosed 
forty  was  put  into  "  sod-corn,"  thus  :  as  the  plow 
turned  over  the  ground,  one  followed  behind  it 
and  with  an  axe  made  a  hole  at  every  other  step 
and  dropped  two  or  three  kernels  in  the  hole  and 
trod  it  in  with  his  heel  as  he  passed  on. 

The  face  of  nature  softens  wonderfully  as  the 
sun  climbs  the  heavens  in  spring,  and  the  lot  of 
all  in  contact  with  her  softens  too  as  she  begins 
to  smile.  This  softening,  however,  is  not  with 
out  its  drawback,  and  the  name  of  this  drawback 
is — mud.  The  more  fertile  under  sunshine,  the 
more  fathomless  under  rain.  The  fiercest  storm 
that  ever  blew  over  the  prairie  is  not  so  absolute 
an  embargo  on  travel  as  is  the  mud  beneath  its 
surface  when  the  spring  rains  are  pouring  and  the 
frozen  subsoil  is  thawing.  An  astonished  trav 
eler,  accustomed  to  the  gravelly  comfort  of  less 
fruitful  lands,  once  observed  to  a  resident  of  Il 
linois  :  — 

tk  Well,  I've  been  through  your  State." 

"What!  Traveled  through  Illinois  and  the 
roads  in  this  condition  ?  " 


ZURY  "NIGGERING"  LOGS.  45 

"Yes,  sir;  clear  through.  Didn't  have  to 
travel  far,  either ;  just  stood  still  and  went  down 
through,  sunk  through."  And  in  proof  of  his  as 
sertion  he  pointed  to  his  half-dead  steed,  covered 
with  mud  up  to  his  ear-tips,  and  to  himself 
shrouded  from  top  to  toe  in  the  same  black 
stickiness. 

For  the  Prouders  it  was  high  time  that  life 
should  begin  to  be  easier.  If  the  winter  had 
been  as  nearly  arctic  in  its  length  as  it  was  in  its 
severity,  it  is  doubtful  if  any  of  the  colony  would 
have  survived  it,  except  Shep.  To  the  poor  be 
reaved  mother  it  seemed  ten  years  long,  and  her 
aged  appearance  bore  out  this  suggestion.  How 
ever,  she  now  grew  strong  enough  to  attend  to 
some  of  the  slight  and  simple  indoor  tasks  so 
that  both  Ephraim  and  Zury  could  work  at  the 
farming. 

But  few  plants  have  changed  and  improved 
more  by  cultivation  than  has  maize.  "  Indian 
corn,"  as  the  Indians  knew  it,  hard  and  hardy, 
small,  strong,  and  poor,  would  scarcely  be  recog 
nized  in  the  prairie  giant  of  these  days.  Even  to 
these  emigrants  it  was  a  wonderful  novelty. 

"  Look,  mammy  ;  h'yer's  an  ear  o'  corn  sech  's 
the'  raise  aout  h'yer !  " 

"  Wai,  ferever !  Looks  bloated,  don't  it  ? 
Bloated  'n'  then  shrunk."  (The  "  dent "  which 
occurs  in  the  top  of  each  kernel  produces  a 
withered  appearance  and  gives  it  the  name  of 
"  horse-tooth "  corn.  It  is  quite  different  from 
the  smooth,  hard,  semi-globular  grains  the 
Prouders  had  been  accustomed  to.) 


46  ZUR  Y. 

"  Ye  'llaow  it's  shrunk,  dew  ye?  Naow  look 
a  h'yer."  He  broke  the  great  ear  —  sixteen 
inches  by  three  or  thereabouts  —  across  his  knee, 
and  showed  her  the  fractured  ends. 

"  Wai,  ferever  !  Them  kernels  is  an  inch  long, 
I  reckon.  'N'  the  cob  ain't  nowher's." 

"  That 's  what 's  the  matter.  Naow  look  a 
h'yer."  He  fitted  the  ear  together  again,  and 
shaped  a  piece  of  paper  about  it,  so  as  to  make  a 
bag  of  just  its  form  and  size.  Then,  while  his 
mother  held  the  bag  he  shelled  off  the  kernels  and 
dropped  them  in,  and  they  completely  filled  it, 
leaving  the  cob  in  his  hand. 

14  Naow  ain't  that  a  meiikle  !  Th'  cob  's  left 
over  clean  V  clar." 

"  Ya-as.  That 's  coz  the  grains  is  so  big  V  thr 
cob 's  so  little ;  'n'  then  we  can't  pile  'em  so 
close  's  they  growed." 

"  I  'xpect  that 's  growed  on  them  mountain- 
ious  tall  stalks  we  passed  's  we  corne  along,  't  I 
could  n't  see  over  not  when  I  stood  up  in  th' 
wagin'." 

44  Ya-as ;  th'  'llaow  'raound  h'yer  aways  's  how 
a  man  had  n't  oughter  never  lay  by  his  corn  until 
it 's  growed  s'  high  he  can't  see  his  way  aouter  th' 
field  come  night." 

44  Haow  soon  d'  ye  'llaow  t'  begin  plaowin'  ?  " 

44  Oh,  jest 's  soon  's  we  kin  see  the  rows.  Th' 
weeds  is  a-startin' ;  good  corn-graound  is  good 
weed-graound,  'n'  they  '11  be  jest  a  howlin'  afore 
we  git  wunst  threw,  try  aour  best." 

The  two  plows  toiled  up  and  down  the  long, 


ZURY  MAKING  A   CORN-CROP.  47 

quarter  -  mile  stretches  from  daylight  till  dark 
for  weeks  together.  The  modern  "  cultivators," 
which  employ  two  horses  and  throw  the  soil  from 
both  sides  toward  the  hill,  were  then  unknown. 
Only  one  horse  could  be  used  by  each  driver,  and 
the  small  plow  had  to  make  two  journeys  be 
tween  every  two  rows. 

By  the  time  they  were  "  once  through  "  the 
corn  seemed  to  "  catch  on  to  the  idea  "  of  what 
was  expected  of  it.  Its  broad  blades  shot  up 
knee-high  and  assumed  the  deep,  strong,  fat  green 
which  is  the  characteristic  of  prairie  corn.  (Its 
growth  is  often  three  inches  a  day  at  this  period.) 
Again  Ephraim  and  Zury  set  themselves  to  tire 
out  each  one  horse  between  daylight  and  noon, 
and  another  between  noon  and  night;  but,  shade 
of  Ceres !  how  tired  they  themselves  were  by 
"  quitting-time  !  "  To  pull  off  the  harness  and 
free  the  horse,  to  drag  one  foot  after  the  other  as 
far  as  the  house,  to  slouch  down  anywhere  and  eat 
anything  that  was  offered  them,  and  then  to  roll 
heavily  into  their  rude  beds  and  enjoy  utter  ob 
livion  until  the  too  speedy  daylight  started  them 
forth  again,  this  was  all  they  could  pretend 
to  do. 

Selina  did  not  expect  any  talk,  except  a  word 
or  two  casually  dropped  at  meal-times,  always  on 
the  absorbing  subject  of  the  work  in  hand.  She 
had,  herself,  planted  a  few  potatoes  in  one  corner 
of  the  field,  in  rows  corresponding  with  the  corn 
rows,  so  as  to  be  plowed  with  the  corn ;  and,  on  a 
rainy  day,  Zury  dug  up  with  his  wooden  spade  a 


48  ZURY. 

little  patch  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  house.  Into 
it  he  put  his  precious  apple  seeds  to  sprout  for 
transplanting,  and  also  the  seeds  of  morning- 
glories,  sunflowers,  and  hollyhocks  brought  from 
"  home."  So  there  was  soon  one  streak  of  color, 
bloom,  and  brightness  about  the  dreary  place. 

The  last  plowing  of  the  corn  is  the  most  trying. 
The  inclement  sun  is  at  its  highest  and  hottest, 
and  beats  down  almost  perpendicularly  on  the 
shadeless  intervals  between  the  rows.  Green- 
headed  horseflies  drive  the  poor  steeds  frantic; 
they  would  commit  suicide  if  horse-sense  were 
equal  to  it.  The  corn  is  breast-high  or  higher, 
and  quite  impenetrable  to  the  summer  breezes. 
No  harvest  field  is  so  torrid  ;  nothing  short  of  a 
"  reverberatory  furnace "  can  fairly  typify  the 
horror  of  it. 

Then  the  wise  farmer  gives  up  several  of  the 
hottest  hours  of  the  day  to  rest  or  cooler  duties ; 
but  Ephraim  was  not  wise ;  he  kept  at  work,  and 
was  soon  seized  with  "  the  shakes."  Every  other 
day  did  he  shiver  for  half  an  hour,  then  burn  for 
an  hour  and  a  half,  and  then  dissolve  in  weaken 
ing  sweats.  However,  the  corn  did  not  lose  so 
much  by  his  illness  as  one  might  suppose,  for  he 
would  work  until  the  fit  came  on,  and  as  long  as  he 
could  hold  the  plow  and  make  the  plow  hold 
him,  then  tie  his  horse  and  lie  down  in  a  fence- 
corner  (within  reach  of  the  pail  of  tepid  water), 
and  wrestle  with  his  dreadful  distress,  and  when 
it  began  to  leave  him,  stagger  to  his  feet  again, 
untie  his  horse,  and  once  more  hold  the  plow  and 


ZURY  MAKING  A  CORN-CROP.  49 

be  held  by  it  until  it  was  too  dark  to  work  any 
longer. 

He  who  doubts  the  accuracy  of  this  picture  can 
easily  convince  himself  that  it  is  not  overdrawn. 

At  last,  one  Saturday  night,  Selina  was  glad 
dened  by  the  words  : 

"  Corn  laid  by,  mammy." 

"  Thank  the  Lord  !  I  begun  t'  think  it  would 
n't  never  be  !  " 

How  they  did  rest  all  that  night,  and  all  the 
next  day !  Before  daylight,'  Zury,  impelled  by 
habit,  rolled  out  of  bed  and  stood  on  the  rattling 
floor  of  his  loft. 

"  Corn  's  laid  by,  Zury  !  "  called  out  his  mother. 
Instantly  he  fell  back  on  his  bed  and  was  again 
asleep  before  he  could  fairly  voice  a  "  hurrah  ! " 
He  slept  nearly  the  whole  day. 

Toward  night  they  all  strolled  out  to  the  fence. 
What  a  sight  the  great,  green  forest  of  rollicking 
standards  presented !  The  day  had  been  one  of 
intense,  still  sunshine ;  one  of  those  when  the 
plant  takes  its  hugest  meals  of  light  and  soil- 
juice.  The  leaves  looked  slightly  wilted  as  the 
sun  went  down. 

"  Looks  's  though  suthV  wuz  th'  matter  on  it, 
don't  it  ?  "  said  Selina. 

"  Nary  !  It  's  like  a  hawg  that 's  jest  tired  o' 
feedin'  V  goes  t'  sleep  t'  turn  it  inter  fat." 

The  others  went  back  to  the  house,  but  Zury 
could  not  tear  himself  away  from  the  sight  until 
dark  night.  Then  he  went  in. 

"  Ye  'd  oughter  waited  !     Ye  kin  jest  hear  'em, 


50  ZURY. 

like  big  boys,  three  in  a  bed.  Sez  they,  *  lay  over, 
bub,  V  gimme  room  t'  grow.'  '  And  just  as 
he  climbed  slowly  to  his  bed  he  called  down  : 
"  Th  '11  be  a-growin'  all  night  while  we  're  asleep." 

During  the  week  Ephraim  drove  to  town  on 
one  of  his  "  well  days  "  to  get  some  medicine  and 
a  few  other  indispensables  of  life.  He  came  back 
without  them.  Zury  looked  in  the  empty  wagon. 

"  Wai,  dad  ;  made  a  water-haul,  did  n't  ye  ?  " 

"  Yes,  son." 

"  Mortgage  money  used  up  ?  " 

"  Teetotally  ;  the  way  they  charge  things  !  An' 
the  interest  on  it 's  a-comin'  dew  nex'  month." 

"  Could  n't  ye  git  t'  git  at  the  store  ontel  the 
crap  comes  in  ?  " 

"  Nary.  Not  'thout  I  "d  give  'em  a  mortgage 
on  another  quarter." 

That  evening  was  a  sad  one  at  the  log  hut. 
Half  the  section  mortgaged  and  nothing  to  show 
for  it  but  this.  Not  one  cent  in  money,  nothing 
to  eat,  drink,  or  wear,  a  growing  crop  that  might 
be  worth,  ten  cents  a  bushel  three  months  hence, 
and  a  little  unsodded  grave  without  even  a  fence 
around  it. 

"  Could  n't  we  git  t'  go  back  home,  Ephr'm  ?  " 
tearfully  asked  Selina.  Ephraim  did  not  reply. 
Zury  asked  him  further  : 

"  Wha"d  the'  say,  dad?" 

"  'Llaowed  I  'd  bit  off  more  'n  I  could  chaw. 
Said  the'  did  n't  see  haow  I  wuz  a-goin'  t'  pay  in 
terest  on  the  mortgages  an'  git  shet  of  'em  'thout 
losin'  the  place." 


ZURY  MAKING  A  CORN-CROP.  51 

"  Did,  did  they  ?  " 

44  Yes,  'n'  offered  me  a  hunderd  dollars  on  an 
other  quarter  section,  er  fifty  dollars  on  my  crap. 
I  near  abaout  tuk  'em  up  on  the  crap." 

44  Oh,  do !  "  said  Selina,  who  almost  hated  the 
corn  crop. 

44  Oh,  don't !  "  said  Zury. 

44  Better  lose  the  crap  than  lose  the  land  that  '11 
fetch  craps." 

4k  Ef  ye  lose  the  crap,  ye  '11  lose  the  land  tew." 

A  long  silence  followed  this,  then  Zury  spoke 
again. 

44  Ain't  them  thar  pigs  out  thar  in  the  woods 
a-growin'  ?  Jest  a-howlin' !  Ye  kin  hear  'em 
a-crunchin'  th'  mast  'fore  ye  git  within  a  mild  on 
'em." 

44  Feller  I  bought  'em  of,  Peddicomb,  he  see  me 
in  taown  'n'  tole  me  he  wuz  a-goin'  t'  sue  me  fer 
the  pay  fer  that  saow  'n'  pigs." 

44  Sho  t'  man!  Did  he  so  ?  Wha'  'd  ye  tell 
him  ?  " 

44  Tole  him  t'  come  'n'  take  'em,  ef  he  wanted 
'em." 

44  What  ?  Ye  don't  tell  me  !  That  saow  'n' 
pigs  ?  He  don't  git  'em  !  " 

44 No  danger.  He  said  he  didn't  want  'em. 
Ye  kin  buy  hawgs  fer  a  cent  a  paound  anywhar's 
naow." 

44  Let 's  buy  'em,  then." 

44  Buy  hawgs,  my  son,  'n'  them  sellin'  at  a  cent 
a  paound  ?  " 

44  Why,  mammy  ;  had  ye  druther  buy  'em  at  a 
dollar  a  paound?  " 


52  ZURY. 

"  I  'd  druther  buy  suth'n'  't  '11  sell  fer  suthV; 
that 's  ef  we  had  any  thin'  t'  buy  with." 

"  Mortgage  another  quarter,  dad,  V  buy  some 
o'  'em  cent-a-paound  hawgs." 

"  That  '11  take  th'  last  quarter  but  th'  one 
we  're  on  tew,  Zury." 

"  Mortgage  that,  tew,  if  we  hev  ter.  We  're 
boun'  t'  swing  this  thing  naow  we  're  inter  it. 
Swing  it  fer  all  it's  wnth.  That's  th'  way  t' 
keep  the  hull  patch  —  all  four  quarters." 

"  Haow  'd  ye  'llaow  t'  dew  it,  son  ?  I  don't 
feel  t'  be  wuth  much  myself  t'  git  us  outer  this 
h'yer  slough." 

"  That 's  so,  dad.  Th'  way  yew  look  ye  won't 
be  wuth  shucks  getherin'  corn  come  col'  weather. 
'N'  I  can't  handle  'n'  haul  no  twelve  hundred 
bushel  o'  corn  outer  that  field  'n'  daown  t'  the 
store,  besides  gittin'  in  th'  hay,  'n'  fencin'  an 
other  forty,  'n'  breakin'  them  colts,  'n'  diggin'  a 
well,  'n'  keepin'  mam  in  firewood,  'n  'goin'  t'  dee- 
strick  scule,  'n'  visitin'  raoun'  amongst  th'  neigh 
bors,  'n'  whistlin'  'n'  chawin'  gum  all  t'  wunst." 

"  Law,  Zury,  quit  yer  foolin'  !  Ye  'most  make 
yer  ole  mammy  laugh  right  aout." 

"Who's  a  foolin'?" 

"  My  son,  ef  ye  got  any  thin'  t'  say,  say  it,  'n' 
ef  not,  go  t'  bed." 

"  I  '11  go  to  bed  when  I  git  ready.  Yew  mort 
gage  another  quarter  'n'  git  th'  hawgs.  They  '11 
do  well  on  mast  all  summer,  V  in  fall  we  '11 
gether  what  corn  we  kin,  'n'  hawg  the  rest."  (To 
"  hog  "  corn  is  to  turn  hogs  into  the  field  and  let 
them  feed  themselves.) 


ZURY  MAKING  A  CORN-CROP.  58 

"  That  don't  pay  no  mortgages." 

"  Don't,  eh  ?  You  better  believe  it  dooz.  I  '11 
jes'  take  a  load  o'  them  havvgs,  killed  V  dressed 
V  froze,  daown  river  till  I  find  some  man  as  '11 
buy  'em,  if  I  have  t'  tote  'em  clean  t'  Orleens  ! 
See  ef  I  don't !  " 

They  didn't  settle  the  matter  that  night,  but 
soon  separated  for  sleep.  As  Zury  disappeared 
up  the  ladder  to  his  roomy  and  airy  bed-loft  he 
called  back  to  his  father,  — 

"  Dad,  I  'm  goin'  t'  own  a  mortgage  'fore  I 
die ;  mind  what  I  say." 

"  Hope  ye  will,  Zur^y.  Yew  '11  have  a  holt  of 
the  right  eend  of  the  poker  then ;  V  t'  other 
feller  he  '11  have  a  holt  o'  the  hot  part,  same  's 
we  've  got  naow." 

"  You  bet !  An'  it  '11  sizzle  his  hands,  tew, 
afore  I  '11  ever  let  up  on  him." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MORE   WORK,   MOKE   PIGS,    BUT    NO    MONEY  FOB 
A    COLLEGE. 

ON  the  following  Sunday  Zury's  mother  saw 
him  take  down  his  rifle  from  its  place  and  start 
away. 

"  Son  Zury,  whar  be  ye  a-goin'  — a  Sund'y?" 
"  Goin'  fer  Peddicomb,  the  man  't  sold  us  them 
hawgs,  V  is  a-goin'  t'  sue  fer  his  pay,  dog-gone 
him  !  " 

"  Oh,  my  son  !  What  ever  can  you  mean  ?  " 
"  Don't  stop  me,  mammy,  I  'm  desp'rut."  Then 
seeing  that  she  was  really  alarmed,  he  burst  into 
one  of  his  rare  laughs,  and  told  her  not  to  be 
scare't,  he  was  n't  going  to  hurt  nobody.  Still, 
she  looked  after  him  wistfully.  But  he  was  fast 
becoming  the  ruling  spirit  in  the  household,  and 
nobody  presumed  to  interfere  with  him  much, 
his  mother  least  of  all. 

He  went  over  to  the  farm  of  Peddicomb,  the 
creditor  in  the  pig-purchase,  and  introduced  the 
subject.  The  man  was  a  loquacious  person,  and 
went  over  the  case  somewhat  in  these  words, 
which  fairly  illustrate  the  hold  which  the  cultiva 
tion  of  maize  has  obtained  on  the  prairie  farmers. 
It  has  given  rise  to  a  new  system  of  chronology 
and  terminology  :  — 


MORE  WORK,   MORE  PIGS,    BUT  NO  MONEY.     55 

"  Ye  see  it  wuz  long  afore  plantin'  that  I  sol' 
yer  father  that  saow  —  afore  breakin'  if  I  remem 
ber  right  —  'n'  he  'greed  t'  pay  me  in  a  week. 
'N'  then  abaout  corn-up  I  buzzed  him  fer  the 
money,  but  did  n't  git  no  satisfaction.  Then  we 
wuz  all  pootty  busy,  of  course,  fer  a  spell,  but 
when  we  wuz  wunst  through  I  met  him  to 
meetin'  'n'  he  'llaowed  he  'd  done  clean  forgot 
all  abaout  it,  'n'  haow  he  'd  square  up  when  he 
got  his  corn  laid  by.  Wai,  tosslin'  time  come 
'n'  passed,  'n'  corn-in-the-milk  tew,  but  he  never 
talked  turkey,  'n'  come  along  abaout  ros'n-ear  I 
jest  upped  'n'  told  him  if  he  did  n't  settle  fer  th' 
hawgs  I  'd  sue  him.  In  fact,  I  did  tell  Squire 
Braown  t'  c'mence  suit.  Ye  see,  it 's  a  gittin' 
along  to\yard  shockin'  'n'  getherin',  'n'  if  I  don't 
look  aout  fer  myself  th'  storekeeper  he  may  up 
'n'  clamp  daown  on  the  crap,  'n'  me  a-stan'in'  by, 
suckin'  my  fingers  'n'  whistlin'  fer  my  money." 

This  quaint  local  speech,  translated  into  the 
vernacular,  makes  the  prairie  farmer's  time-table 
for  the  whole  year  from  spring  to  spring. 

"  Breakin'  "  is  the  spring  plowing  ;  March  and 
April,  when  the  frost  is  out  and  the  ground 
dry  enough  to  turn  over  without  being  made 
"cloddy."  "Plantin"'  should  begin  about  May 
first.  "  Corn-up  "  will  follow  in  about  ten  days. 
"  Wunst  through,"  the  completion  of  the  first 
corn  plowing,  should  be  early  in  June.  41Laid 
by  "  will  follow  six  or  eight  weeks  later,  some 
time  in  July.  "  Tosslin',"  when  the  tassels  be 
gin  to  turn  the  field  from  green  to  yellow,  will 


56  ZURY. 

be  before  the  beginning  of  August.  "  Corn-in- 
the  milk,"  by  the  middle,  and  "  ros'n'  ear,"  when 
the  milk  has  coagulated  into  gluten  and  the  ear 
may  be  roasted  for  the  table  —  say  by  about 
September  first.  "  Shocking''  cutting  up  and 
placing  in  "  shocks  "  such  portion  as  is  kept  for 
the  sake  of  the  fodder  in  stalks  and  leaves,  takes 
October,  and  "  getherin'  "  goes  on  all  winter. 

"  Dad  sez  ye  won't  take  'em  back." 

"  No  ;  thet  ain't  what  I  sold  'em  fer.  I  wanted 
the  money,  V  if  I  had  n't  a  wanted  money 
more 'n  hawgs  I  would  a  tried  to  a  worked  so 's 
to  a  kep'  'em." 

"  How  much  wuz  it  ? "  (Zury  knew  the 
amount  as  well  as  he  did,  but  he  observed  that 
the  other  had  an  interested  eye  fixed  on^his  rifle, 
and  he  wanted  to  give  him  time.) 

"  Seven  dollars  is  the  price,  if  the  Squire  hain't 
begun  suit,  'n'  I  don't  s'pose  he  has  ;  he  don't 
never  do  nothin'  'less  ye  stan'  over  him  with  a 
club  while  he  dooz  it.  That 's  a  good-lookin' 
rifle  ye  've  got !  " 

"  I  believe  ye  ;  that  rifle  cost  over  twenty-five 
dollars." 

"  Dew  tell  !  I  wanter  know !  Wai,  it 's  all 
right  fer  a  rifle." 

"  Ye  d'  want  no  rifle,  dew  ye  ?  If  ye  'd  gimme 
a  fair  price  fer  it,  ye  m ought  stop  out  the  seven 
dollars  'n'  gimme  the  rest  in  money." 

"  Money  !  Th'  ain't  no  sech  a  thing  !  Hain't 
set  eyes  on  no  money  fer  a  coon's  age.  Give  ye 
s'  more  hawgs." 


MORE  WORK,  MORE  PIGS,  BUT  NO  MONEY.       57 

This  was  just  what  Zury  wanted,  so  he  began 
to  hang  back. 

"  Oh,  hawgs  is  nowhers  naow.  Ye  can't  give 
'em  away." 

Nevertheless,  he  and  Shep  drove  home  a  fine 
lot  of  swine  at  estimated  weights.  It  happened 
that  as  the  sharp  bargainers  were  talking,  the  old 
doctor  rode  by,  and  they  got  him  to  "  guess  them 
off,"  he  being  a  noted  expert  at  "  guessin' 
hawgs,"  which  is  a  great  accomplishment  in  the 
rural  districts,  wonderful  expertness  being  attained 
by  long  experience  and  many  competitive  trials  of 
skill  in  foretelling  from  the  pig's  looks  how  much 
the  pork  will  weigh.  Zury  also  carried  away  a 
"  paper-writin',"  showing  that  on  the  payment  of 
twenty  dollars  by  New  Year's  day,  his  rifle  was  to 
be  returned  to  said  Prouder,  otherwise  to  be  and 
remain  the  property  of  said  Peddicomb.  (A  few 
unusual  phrases  add  largely  to  the  value  and  dig 
nity  of  every  transaction.) 

"  Wai,  mammy ;  Peddicomb  he  got  my  rifle 
away  before  I  got  a  chance  to  put  a  bullit  inter 
any  vital  part,  but  I  got  away  some  of  his  best 
hawgs.  Here  the'  be." 

"  Look  awfle  thin  !  " 

44  'Course  !  S'pose  I  wanted  t'  pay  a  cent  a 
paoun'  fer  fat  hawgs  ?  Ef  th'  wuz  fat,  we 
could  n't  make  'em  no  fatter  'twixt  naow  'n' 
sellin'  time.  Thin  hawgs  is  wuth  more  'n  fat 
hawgs  every  time." 

44  Good  plan  t'  starve  'em  most  t'  death,  'n1  then 
sell  'em  back." 


58  ZURY. 

"  Mammy,  ye  wuz  jest  made  i'er  ti  sculema'am  ! 
Know  yer  'rithmetick  fustrate,  'n'  back  part  o' 
th'  spellin'-book  tew  ;  clean  over  t'  where  the 
leaves  is  all  tore  out  !  " 

Zury's  strong  sense  and  strong  will  prevailed  in 
the  matter  of  the  additional  mortgage.  Soon  the 
woods  were  well  sprinkled  with  Prouder  pigs, 
loudly  munching  acorns  day  and  night,  and  almost 
as  wild  as  deer  in  their  forest  freedom.  Later  the 
ungathered  corn  was  "hogged,"  and  the  lantern- 
jaws  of  the  woods-rovers  stood  out  with  fatness 
by  the  time  they  had  been  six  weeks  in  the  corn 
field.  Then  with  the  first  good  sleighing  Zury  set 
forth,  the  hay-rack  on  the  "  bob-sleds  "  and  twenty 
good  porkers  on  the  hay-rack,  besides  corn  enough 
to  feed  his  four  horses  for  a  month,  some  bedding, 
and  a  bag  of  bread  and  ham,  half  a  bushel  or  so 
of  hard-boiled  eggs,  and  last,  but  not  least,  Shep. 

In  less  than  a  month  he  was  at  home  again 
with  a  hundred  and  sixty  dollars  in  silver,  not 
having  spent  one  stiver  on  the  road  except  two 
eight-cent  tolls  and  a  twenty-cent  ferriage,  and 
also  the  cost  of  an  occasional  feed  of  hay  for  his 
team  when,  as  he  said,  they  couldn't  live  any 
longer  on  "  post  oats,"  that  is,  the  fragments  they 
could  gnaw  off  the  posts  they  were  tied  to  while 
eating  their  corn. 

Did  any  inanimate  treasure  ever  look  more 
beautiful  to  its  possessors  than  did  those  sixteen 
piles  of  twenty  silver  half-dollars  each  ?  It  was 
better  than  the  log  floor.  They  gazed  at  them 
lovingly  for  a  long,  long  time.  Their  shine 


MORE  WORK,    MORE   PIGS,   BUT  NO  MONEY-  59 

rested  the  tired  eyes,  their  jingle  charmed  the 
ears  unused  to  pleasant  sounds. 

"  Wai,  ferever  !  "  sighed  Selina. 

"  That  '11  pay  off  one  of  the  mortgages,  Zury," 
said  his  father. 

"  That  won't  pay  off  nothV,  dad,  not  with  my 
consent." 

"  'Llaow  t'  bury  it,  my  son?" 

"  Yes,  mammy  ;  bury  it  in  some  stuff  t'  live  on, 
V  a  shelter  fer  the  stawk,  'n'  s'  more  stawk,  'n' 
help  t'  fence  another  forty,  'n'  some  o'  th'  ready 
John  fer  dad  t'  take  when  he  goes  t'  buy  truck, 
so  's  he  wunt  hev  t'  buy  from  them  sharks  that 
holds  the  money  on  the  mortgages ;  them  a-sockin' 
on  it  tew  him  every  time  in  regard  of  quality  'n' 
prices  of  everythin'." 

"  Wai ;  ye  '11  git  yer  gun  back,  Zury  ?  " 

The  youth  thoughtfully  lifted  two  of  the  little 
piles  and  set  them  apart  from  the  others,  leaving 
fourteen  together.  Then  he  replaced  them  with 
the  rest,  saying  stoutly,  — 

"  Noap !  I  guess  not.  If  ary  deer  comes 
araound  a-pokin'  his  nose  at  me  'n'  try  in'  t'  bite 
me,  I  kin  borry  dad's  ole  muskit.  But  I  ain't 
a-goin'  t'  hev  much  time  a-foolin'  raound  with  no 
guns.  Hawgs  '11  fetch  pigs  a  goodie  faster  'n 
rifles  '11  fetch  deer." 

"  Zury,  th'  dew  say  's  haow  th'  ain't  no  better 
use  fer  money  'n  t'  pay  debts  with." 

*;  Don't  ye  b'lieve  it,  dad.  Borryin'  's  a  need- 
cessity,  'n'  payin'  's  a  luxury.  We  can't  'fford  no 
luxuries  yit  a  spell.  Gimme  another  year,  'n' 


60  ZURY. 

I  '11  talk  t'  ye  'baout  clearin'  off  them  mort 
gages." 

"  Wai,  ferever  !  " 

Zury  had  brought  home  with  him  an  individual 
name  Jule.  Jule  was  as  black  as  black  could  be  : 
"  charcoal  'd  make  a  white  mark  on  him." 

"  Haow  on  'arth  'd  ye  pick  him  up,  Zury?" 

"  Wai,  I  seen  him  nigh  t'  the  steamboat  landin' 
fer  a  couple  o'  days,  V  then  agin  I  missed  him ; 
'n'  that  night  I  heerd  the  boys  a-la-aughin'  V 
raisin'  Ned  'cause  they  'd  scared  Jule  most  white 
by  a  tellin'  on  him  his  ole  master  'd  come  on  the 
boat  'n'  wuz  a-layin'  fer  him." 

"  Wai,  ferever !  Worn't  they  a  crool,  stony 
hearted  set  o'  critters !  Did  n'  nobody  take  his 
part  ?  "  . 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  th'  wuz  a  long,  lanky  feller  —  Cap'n 
Abe  Linkin  —  he  wuz  Cap'n  'n'  part  owner  of  th' 
flatboat  th't  tuk  my  hawgs.  Sez  he,  '  Let  him 
alone,  boys.  Ye  onery  limbs !  Wanter  tromp 
outer  a  poor  cuss  when  he  's  daown  ? '  Some  on 
'em  jest  larfed  at  him  ;  sez  they,  •  Oho  Abe ; 
lookin'  aout  fer  fear  yer  ole  uncle  '11  git  hurt? 
Or  yer  half-brother  is  he,  which  ?  '  Ye  see,  Abe 
wuz  pootty  dark  complected.  Wai,  then  the'  all 
hooted,  'n'  then  the  Cap'n  he  jest  rared  up  on  his 
hind  legs,  long  enough  t'  reach  f'rn  h'yer  t' 
Christmas,  'n'  lifted  a  hand  't  looked  like  the 
hand  o'  Providence,  'n'  the  fellers  npped  'n' 
scooted.  The'  wuz  all  scare't  of  Abe  when  he  wuz 
riled.  But  by  that  time  Jule  he  'd  got  aout  o' 
sight  up  th'  road." 


MORE  WORK,    MORE  PIGS,    BUT  NO  MONEY.     61 

"  Wbar  d'  ye  come  acrost  him  nex'  ?  " 

"  Wai,  nex'  day  I  lifc  aout  fer  hum  light-footed, 
V  come  along  on  a  trot,  V  I  seed  suth'n'  awful 
black  away  ahead  'twixt  th'  snow-drifts,  but 
when  I  got  t'  where  it  wuz  it  worn't  thar.  So  's 
I,  4  Whar  is  he,  Shep  ? '  an'  it  worn't  more  'n 
a  quarter  of  a  minute  afore  Shep  he  snooped 
'raoun'  in  the  snow  'n'  come  t'  Jule,  jest  'baout 
dead.  I  went  up  tew  him  'n'  sez  he,  '  I  gin  up, 
ma'hse  ;  I  '11  go  back  wi'  ye  'n'  never  run  away 
fin  ole  ma'hse  no  mo'.' ' 

"  Oh,  Lordy,  Lordy  !     A  runaway  slave  !  " 

"Yew  bet!  So 's  I,  'I'm  a-goin'  north,  'n' 
if  ye  wanter  go  back  t'  ole  marse,  I  can't  help  ye 
none,  but  if  ye  wanter  go  north  *  —  Then  y' 
oughter  jest  seen  him  !  He  jest  got  half  way  up, 
'n'  crept  on  his  hands  'n'  knees  t'  me,  an'  of  all 
the  beggin'  !  " 

Here  Zury's  command  of  language  failed  him, 
and  he  was  silent,  while  his  mother  shed  a  tear  or 
two  on  her  sleeve. 

"  Then  sez  I,  4  Kin  ye  work  ?  '  'n'  sez  he,  '  Ef 
I  cudd'n'  work  I  doan  speck  dey  'd  want  me  back 
s'  bad.'  That  looked  kind  o'  sensible,  so  sez  I, 
4 1  '11  hev  t'  charge  ye  ten  dollars  t'  tote  ye  a 
hunderd  miles  up  north.'  'N'  sez  he,  '  Goramity, 
ma'hse,  I  ain't  got  a  cent ! '  '  Wai,  ye  kin  work 
it  aout  when  ye  git  thar.  Dollar  a  month  'n'  yer 
keep.'  'N'  here  he  is." 

It  appeared  that  after  being  so  dreadfully  scared 
poor  Jule  had  walked  all  night  with  nothing  to 
eat,  and  was  very  near  to  death's  door  when  Zury 


62  ZURY. 

overtook  him.  Zury  related  that  Jule  always 
slept  in  the  sleigh  face-downward  on  the  straw, 
and  when  asked  to  explain  this  habit,  he  said,  "  I 
specks  it's  coz  my  back  done  ben  so'ah  mos'  all 
my  life,  'pea'hs  like."  But  he  laughed  when  he 
said  it,  as  if  it  were  rather  a  good  joke  at  his  ex 
pense. 

Probably  Jule  had  been  a  "  lazy  nigger  "  when 
working  under  orders  from  non-workers.  But  "  in 
dustry  is  catching,''  as  says  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field  ;  and  Jule  must  have  been  more  or  less  than 
human  to  fail  to  work  hard  when  he  wielded  one 
axe  and  Zury  another  on  the  same  job,  often  on 
opposite  sides  of  the  same  tree.  Their  lonely 
situation  favored  the  absolute  subjection  of  the 
weaker  mind  to  the  stronger,  and  in  any  case, 
when  ethnic  disposition  toward  shirking  seemed 
to  show  itself,  the  remedy  was  easy,  and  was  un 
sparingly  used.  For  instance  :  — 

44  Chilblains,  eh?  Wai,  Jule,  tell  ye  what  it 
is  ;  ye  better  light  aout  'n'  git  daown  t'  whar 
it 's  warmer  weather.  Ye  need  n't  mind  abaout 
th'  rest  o'  them  ten  dollars.  I  '11  let  ye  often  that." 

"  Oh,  Ma'hse  Zury  !  Doan'  ye  do  it !  I  '11  git 
t'  wu'hk  in  'de.  mo'hnin',  shu'h  's  ye  're  bo'hn 
I  will.  My  feet's  awfle, — it's  jest  like  I  wuz 
a  walkin'  on  my  eye-balls,  —  but  I'll  git 'roun' 
somehow,  foah  de  Lo'hd  I  will." 

And  the  poor  tropical  being  (whose  sufferings 
were  real  enough)  would  swathe  -his  unhappy 
feet  in  rags,  hay,  pieces  of  deerskin  and  bark, 
tied  on  with  rawhide  thongs  and  willow  withes, 


MORE  WORK,    MORE  PIGS,    BUT  NO  MONEY.     63 

or  anything  else  he  could  command,  and  would 
hobble  out  and  do  at  least  a  half-day's  work  in  the 
fear  of  expulsion  from  this  poor  harbor  of  refuge. 
He  had  run  away  from  one  master,  but  could  not 
be  driven  away  from  another,  though  for  the 
latter  he  worked  harder  than  for  the  former,  and 
getting  no  greater  real  wages,  rather  less.  But 
with  Zury  he  was  "  free." 

It  was  with  something  like  dismay  that  Selina 
heard  Zury  tell  his  father  that  he  was  bound  to 
have  a  whole  quarter  section  fenced  for  next 
year's  crop.  (They  were  all  sitting  around  the 
hearth,  Zury  whittling  as  usual.) 

"  A  hull  quarter,  Zury  boy  ?  " 

"  That 's  what  I  said,  mammy." 

"  Ain't  that  four  forties  ?  " 

"  Jest  exackly  ;  a  hunderd  V  sixty  acres." 

44  Oh,  Zury  ;  ye  make  me  tired  a-talkin'  that 
a-way  !  " 

44  Ef  me  'n'  Jule  kin  stan'  it,  I  reckon  yew 
kin  ! " 

44  It  tuk  a  mild  o'  fence  t'  dew  the  forty,  that 
makes  four  mild  altogether  ye  're  a-layin'  aout  t' 
dew  this  winter." 

44  Mammy,  ef  I  wuz  hired  aout  t'  yew  I  'd  let 
ye  dew  the  figgerin'  fer  pay.  One  mild  fer  forty, 
that  makes  four  miles  fer  four  forties,  don't  it?  " 

44  'Course  it  dooz.  'N'  ye  know  ye  're  all  th' 
chick  er  child  I  've  got  left !  Ef  ye  kill  yerself 
yer  poor  ol'  mammy  '11  be  in  th'  poorhaouse  fust 
thing  ye  know.  Yer  dad,  he  ain't  a-goin'  t'  be  no 
'caount  t'  work  n'  more,  so  fur  's  I  kin  see  ! " 


64  ZURY. 

Zury  did  not  reply  directly,  but  quickly  whit 
tled  out  eight  little  sticks  of  equal  lengths. 

"  Now,  look  a-hyar,  mammy.  Ye  see  that  li'l 
square  I  've  drawed  in  th'  ashes  ?  That 's  a 
forty.  Wai,  it  takes  four  sticks  t'  go  'raound  it, 
don't  it  ?  So  each  stick  's  a  quarter-mild  long. 
Naovv  watch  while  I  draw  three  other  forties  — 
thar  ;  four  forties  in  a  square.  Haow  many  sticks 
will  it  take  t'  go  'raound  'em  all  ?  " 

"  Why,  haow  many  ?  " 

"Jest  exackly  eight.  See?  Them  fust  four 
goes  half  'raound,  'n'  four  more  fences  it  all. 
See  ?  " 

"  Wai,  ferever  !  " 

"  That 's  jest  the  difference  betwixt  wholesale 
'n'  retail  business.  I  'm  goin'  t'  be  a  wholesaler 
all  my  life,  er  die  a-tryin'." 

And  he  was.  Their  quarter  section  of  corn, 
when  it  was  "  tossled  aout,"  looked  like  a  half- 
mile  square  of  green  ocean,  the  tassels  making  a 
yellow  foam  for  the  wind-swept  waves  ;  and  then 
the  working  of  it  was  easy  by  comparison,  as 
there  are  only  half  as  many  turns  for  horses  and 
plows  to  make  in  doing  the  work.  On  some  of 
the  giant  western  farms  the  fields  are  laid  out  so 
that  the  plow,  starting  in  the  morning,  makes 
but  one  turn  before  getting  back  at  noon,  the 
furrow  being  long  enough  (say  two  miles  and  a 
half)  to  use  up  the  whole  time. 

There  is  no  need  for  us  to  follow  every  step  in 
the  Prouders'  fortunes.  Each  inch  gained  was 
won  by  hard  work  and  held  by  sordid  economy. 


MORE  WORK,   MORE  PIGS,   BUT  NO  MONEY.     65 

Of  course,  every  cent  so  made  looks  to  its  owner 
"  big  as  a  cart-wheel."  Zury's  acquaintances 
soon  began  to  say  of  him  that  he  "  would  pinch  a 
dollar  till  the  eagle  on  it  squealed."  And  Zury 
did  nob  deny  it,  but  gloried  in  it.  He  never 
looked  into  a  book,  nor  did  he  in  any  way  (except 
by  using  it)  add  to  the  slender  stock  of  learning 
he  had  acquired  before  the  migration.  The  news- 
papered  walls  of  their  room  was  all  his  library. 
He  was  without  associates,  ambitions,  or  objects 
in  life,  except,  in  the  first  place,  "  subduing"  that 
farm ;  in  the  next  place,  clearing  it  of  the  mort 
gages ;  in  the  third  place,  increasing  its  money- 
making  capabilities ;  and  thenceforth  and  forever 
adding  dollar  to  dollar,  mortgage  to  mortgage  (on 
other  people's  farms),  note  to  note,  and  gain  to 
gain,  with  all  the  force  of  a  strong  intellect  pent 
into  a  narrow  channel. 

As  the  fine  farm  grew  fat,  the  old  couple  who 
had  given  their  life  to  it  dwindled  away.  Selina 
died,  murmuring  the  name  of  her  lost  daughter 
with  her  last  intelligible  breath.  Zury  had  long 
looked  for  the  event,  and  (being  callous  from  the 
wound  he  had  received  in  the  death  of  his  sis 
ter)  was  not  at  all  affected  by  it.  Old  Ephraim 
seemed  half  dead  during  the  rest  of  his  life,  as  if 
part  of  his  body  and  part  of  his  mind  had  sickened 
with  her  sickness  and  been  buried  in  her  grave. 

He  and  Peddicomb  had  both  been  connected 
with  the  little  sect  of  Christians  called  "Soul- 
sleepers,"  from  their  individual  guess  as  to  the 


66  ZURY. 

fate  of  mankind  between  death  and  judgment. 
Old  Prouder's  easy  descent  toward  second  child 
hood  was  accompanied  by  a  maundering  return 
of  interest  in  the  doctrine  of  Soul-sleeping.  This 
made  Zury  anxious,  and  impatient,  and  prone  to 
be,  as  Ephraim  phrased  it,  "  hard  on  his  poor  old 
dad."  But  the  veteran  jealously  kept  the  old 
mastery  of  his  property,  while  at  the  same  time 
he  clung  to  Zury  with  touching  persistence  and 
confidence.  He  was  as  close  as  ever,  or  closer  : 
his  devotion  to  the  great  principle  of  Soul-sleep 
ing  was  only  such  as  could  be  rendered  without 
expense,  and  usually  when  Zury  was  absent  and 
Peddicomb  present. 

The  Soul-sleepers  had  founded  a  college  at  a 
town  in  Ohio,  the  headquarters  of  Soul-sleeping. 
The  truth  probably  is,  that  denominational  edu 
cation  would  be  for  them  denominational  suicide ; 
for  when  you  educate  a  Soul-sleeper  he  ceases  to 
be  one.  But  that  is  their  lookout.  They  had 
their  college,  and  whether  they  needed  it  or  not 
they  needed  funds  for  it.  An  emissary  in  quest 
of  contributions  came  to  Spring  County  :  the  man 
selected  (one  Elder  Bigration)  being,  of  course,  as 
wise  as  a  serpent  at  any  rate.  He  showed  great 
devotion  to  business,  —  that  is,  devotion,  with  an 
eye  to  business.  His  sermon  on  Sunday  was  very 
stirring.  He  likened  faith  to  an  anchor,  and  re 
marked  that  when  the  tempest-tossed  ship  was 
about  to  founder  in  the  fathomless  ocean  of  de 
spair,  then  the  ungodly  soul  in  his  .frenzy  seized 
on  any  frail  plank  or  bit  of  wreck,  in  the  vain 


MORE    WORK,  MORE   PIGS,  BUT  NO  MONEY.     67 

hope  of  salvation.  But  what,  he  asked,  did  the 
Soul-sleeping  Christian  do?  He  lashed  himself 
to  the  anchor  ! 

This  made  a  deep  impression  on  all ;  and  on  the 
road  home  Ephraim  ventured  to  call  Zury's  at 
tention  to  the  importance  of  the  truth  set  forth  ; 
but  Zury  only  chuckled  in  his  dry  way,  and  said,  — 

"  Wai,  —  th'  Elder  he  's  a  talker  sure  enough. 
A  reg'lar  old  Blower  from  Blowtown.  But  when 
the  ship's  a-sinkin',  if  any  feller  ups  'n'  ties  him 
self  to  the  anchor,  —  why  I  reckon  he  's  a  fool. 
He  'd  oughter  be  bored  fer  th'  holler-horn !  Gim 
me  a  board  t'  float  on,  every  time  !  "  (Of  course 
his  mind  reverted  to  the  wall-paper  shipwreck  in 
all  its  thrilling  details.) 

Bigration  stayed  at  the  Peddicombs,  and  awak 
ened  great  interest  in  the  breasts  of  the  three  un 
married  daughters  by  his  fervor.  He  would  walk 
up  and  down  before  the  fire-place  by  the  hour,  at 
intervals  groaning  out,  "  What  shall  I  do  to  be 
saved?"  or  some  other  pious  ejaculation.  Long 
and  anxious  were  his  talks  with  Peddicomb  —  not 
as  to  how  much  brother  Peddicomb  would  give, 
but  how  much  could  be  squeezed  out  of  brother 
Prouder.  He  aimed  to  make  the  former  a  co- 
worker,  with  a  double  purpose  ;  the  second  thought 
being  that  co-workers  give  more  money,  as  well  as 
more  other  help,  than  the  non-workers. 

"  Pootty  poor  show  of  gittin'  any  thin'  out  of 
oldEphr'm!" 

"  Brother,  I  shall,  with  God's  help,  discharge 
my  duty  !  "  (He  said  this  as  if  his  duty  had  been 
a  gun.) 


68  ZURY. 

At  last  it  was  settled  that  a  note,  without  in 
terest,  having  a  year  to  run,  might  seem  to 
brother  Prouder  a  fine  investment  in  the  work 
of  grace  ;  and  further,  brother  Peddicomb  was  to 
give  as  much  as  brother  Prouder  did;  so  the  lat 
ter  would  feel  that  he  was  bestowing  on  the  Cause 
twice  what  he  paid  out,  —  buying  two  dollars' 
worth  of  grace  for  a  dollar.  Privately,  the  mis 
sionary  hoped  that  brother  Prouder  might  take  a 
notion  to  give  such  a  sum  as  would  be  a  dreadful 
pull  to  brother  Peddicomb  ;  to  punish  the  lesser 
nabob  who  presumed  to  challenge  him  in  this 
manner.  (He  did  n't  know  Ephrairn  !) 

As  Bigration  departed  on  his  fearful  errand  to 
Prouder's,  Peddicomb  called  after  him,  encourag 
ingly  :  — 

"  Mebbe  ye  m ought  git  suth'n'  aouter  him  by 
a-stayin'  with  him  till  he  thinks  yer  keep  '11  come 
t'  more  'n  his  subscription." 

Toward  night  he  returned,  "  beat  out "  as  he 
expressed  it. 

"  Brother  Peddicomb,  come  over  and  labor 
with  me  on  brother  Prouder.  Ym  stalled!" 

"  He-he  !  Wha'  M  I  tell  ye  ?  Wai,  let 's  have 
s'm  supper,  'n'  sleep  on  it.  T'rnorrer  '11  be  time 
enough." 

Zury  was  absent  when  they  called.  Ephraim 
received  them  cordially,  but  warily.  He  did  n't 
"  slop  over,"  not  he  !  The  meeting  opened  with 
prayer  by  brother  Bigration,  during  which  he 
depicted  a  happy  fate  for  those  who  should  serve 
Heaven  in  the  way  he  pointed  out :  they  were  to 


MORE  WORK,   MORE  PIGS,    BUT  NO  MONEY.     69 

do  well  in  this  world,  and  better,  if  anything,  in 
the  next ;  while  those  who  grieved  away  the 
Spirit  now  were  to  have  very  bad  luck  in  both. 
Their  store  and  their  bread-basket,  however  full 
hitherto,  would  be  empty  henceforth  and  for 
ever  !  (Proverbs  iii.  1-10.) 

Old  Ephraim  groaned  in  the  spirit  and  in  the 
flesh.  Ruin  seemed  to  stare  him  in  the  face  as 
the  experience  of  Job  was  held  up  before  his  eyes. 
The  threats  chimed  in  with  his  natural  sordid 
fears.  Times  were  hard :  perhaps  his  punishment 
had  begun  already  ! 

"  Havvgs  is  three  cents  a  paound  er  less,  'n'  beef 
th'  same,  and  wheat  a-droppin'  every  day.  Ya-as, 
a  year's  time  withaout  interest  is  an  objick ;  but 
then  I  'd  druther  see  when  th'  time  comes.  I  '11 
dew  full  's  well  then  's  if  I  gin  ye  my  note  naow, 
mebbe  better.  Very  likely  better.'* 

"  Brother  Prouder,  the  Lord  don't  require  no 
man  t'  go  beyond  his  means.  Let 's  go  out  and 
look  over  your  stock  and  crops  a  little." 

A  score  of  handsome  hay-ricks ;  two  thousand 
bushels  of  good  wheat  in  the  barn  ;  a  hundred 
acres  of  corn  yet  to  gather ;  sixty  cattle,  two 
hundred  sheep,  and  more  hogs  than  cattle  and 
sheep  together  ;  and  all  marketable  by  spring. 
No  deduction  to  be  made  for  family  sustenance  in 
the  mean  while,  for  there  were  bee-hives,  potato- 
pits,  cabbage-pits,  pork  in  pickle,  apples,  milch 
cows,  chickens,  —  in  short,  provender  of  all 
kinds  in  utter  abundance,  outside  all  the  salable 
"  truck." 


70  ZURY. 

Ephraim's  heart  did  warm  up  a  little  as  he 
looked  over  the  splendid  show,  but  then  he  took 
gloomy  views,  and  in  estimating  values  took  care 
not  to  overstate  anything. 

When  they  returned  to  the  house  Bigration 
produced  pencil  and  paper  and  spent  some  time 
in  figuring.  At  last  he  submitted  to  Prouder  a 
list  of  the  salable  truck  with  valuations.  Ephra- 
im  could  find  no  fault  with  it. 

"Now,  brother  Prouder,  that  property  can't 
fetch  less  than  those  figgers.  If  it's  the  Lord's 
will,  it  11  fetch  more,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  Surelye,  ef  it 's  his  will." 

"  If  it  fetches  more,  ye  '11  owe  it  t'  Him,  won't 

ye?" 

Ephraim  was  silent. 

"  Then,  brother,"  added  the  emissary,  rising 
and  speaking  with  a  heart-moving  fervor,  "  return 
to  Him  half  the  surplus.  Stacks  may  burn,  corn 
may  rot,  wheat  may  sprout,  cattle  may  die  of 
murrain,  and  hogs  of  cholera ;  but  if  the  Cause 
is  to  get  one  poor  half  of  the  bare  increase  in  value 
on  these  good  things,  you  are  safe  to  know  that 
your  other  half  will  be  more  than  the  whole  gain 
—  or  even  the  whole  principal  itself  —  will  be  if 
you  let  this  occasion  slip  by.  The  Lord  cares  for 
his  own  lest  he  strike  his  foot  against  a  stone." 

Superstition  stimulated  cupidity  into  liberality. 
When  the  visitors  departed  they  had  Ephraim's 
sign-manual  to  a  document  promising  all  that  Bi 
gration  had  asked  ;  the  document  to  rest  in  Ped 
dicomb's  hands  until  the  "  overplus,"  if  any,  wai- 


MORE  WORK,   MORE  PIGS,    BUT  NO  MONEY.     71 

ascertained,  when  he  was  to  add  a  like  amount, 
and  forward  the  whole  to  the  struggling  institu 
tion. 

On  their  way  home  they  met  Zury,  and  Peddi- 
comb,  who  had  begun  to  feel  very  uneasy  in  view 
of  the  obligation  he  had  rashly  undertaken,  re 
vealed  the  matter  to  him  in  the  confident  hope 
that  he  would  find  means  to  upset  the  whole 
thing.  Zury  looked  very  black,  but  did  not  make 
known  any  plan  of  interference. 

As  he  proceeded  homeward  he  pondered  long 
over  the  affair.  At  first  every  impulse  was  against 
it  ;  but  still,  the  more  he  thought  the  more  he 
saw  two  clear  sides  to  the  subject.  He  had  be 
gun  to  feel  keenly  the  want  of  education.  Here 
was  a  lot  of  money  —  his  earnings  —  going  into 
an  educational  institution  ;  could  n't  he  borrow 
time  enough  from  the  farm  to  attend  the  school  ? 
In  all  his  thoughts  about  himself  (they  were  few 
and  rare)  he  was  always  the  boy  in  that  unfin 
ished  wall-paper  story.  The  Soul-sleepers'  Col 
lege  might  be  his  ship  to  run  away  to.  The  sea 
was  the  sea  of  knowledge,  of  which  he  had  learned 
so  little.  The  unhabited  island  —  oh  dear  !  Why 
did  that  next  paper  happen  to  be  nowhere  in  the 
world  for  him  ?  Now  that  blower —  to  come  and 
get  away  a  heap  of  his  hard  earnings  in  pay  for 
wind !  Should  it  go  for  nothing  ?  Not  if  he 
knew  it ! 

"  Wai,  dad,  I  hear  you  've  be'n  V  gone  V 
done  it !  " 

Ephraim,  already  in   something  of   a  panic  at 


72  ZURY. 

what  he  had  done,  sat  speechless  before  his  son. 
His  empty  jaws  fell  apart,  and  his  poor  old  thin 
face  blanched  in  every  wrinkle. 

"  Son  Zury,"  he  began,  as  soon  as  he  found  his 
voice,  "d'  ye  b'lieve  the'  kin  c'lect  any  thin'  on 
that  thar  paper-writin'  ?  " 

44  C'lect  ?  'Course  the'  kin  !  That  thar  Bi- 
gration  he's  jest  sharp  enough  t'  draw  up  a 
bindin'  agreement.  'N'  ye  're  jest  fool  enough  t' 
sign  one !  " 

44  Mebbe  —  mebbe  it  '11  pay  us,  son  —  mebbe 
we  '11  git  more  aouter  th'  truck  fer  givin'  a  sheer 
on  it  t'  th'  Cause." 

44  Ah,  yah  !  Goin'  pards  with  th'  Almighty,  be 
ye  ?  I  s'pose  that's  the  kind  o'  talk  the'  come  it 
over  ye  with  !  " 

"  It 's  only  half  the  overplus,  ye  know." 

44 1  don't  care  what  ye  call  it,  —  half  the  over 
plus  or  a  quarter  of  the  underpins,  —  it's  a  good 
four  hunderd  dollars,  that's  what  it  is!" 

44  Four  hunderd  dollars  !  Lord  a  massy  on  me  ! 
But  mebbe  we  '11  git  it  back.  The  Lord  don't 
fergit  his  own." 

But  the  old  man  shook  as  if  with  palsy.  He 
spilt  his  tea  on  the  way  to  his  mouth  ;  the  pot 
was  empty,  and  lie  was  too  stingy  to  let  Jule 
make  him  a  second  drawing.  Zury  even  pitied 
him. 

44  Ne'  mind,  dad.  I  've  thought  of  a  way  t'  git 
even  with  'em  !  " 

44  Haow  's  that,  my  son  ?  " 

44  Why,  I  '11  take  it  aout  in  edication  next  win 
ter." 


MORE  WORK,    MORE  PIGS,   BUT  NO  MONEY-     73 

"  But,  Zury,"  the  old  man  screamed  in  his 
quavering  voice,  "  it 's  'way  off  in  Ohio  !  " 

"  I  don't  keer  if  it 's  in  Jericho  !  I  '11  foller  that 
money  'n'  git  th'  wuth  on  it  somehow." 

Zury's  short  evening  passed  in  fits  of  grim  an 
ger  at  the  extortion  that  had  been  practiced  on 
his  doting  old  father,  alternating  with  dim  visions 
of  gaining  greater  money-making  power  through 
"  schooling."  Ephraim  lay  till  morning  in  the 
sad  wakef  ulness  of  age.  Four  hundred  dollars ! 
Zury  gone,  and  he  alone  on  the  farm  all  winter ! 
Then  bright  and  early  he  walked  over  to  Peddi- 
comb's.  (The  latter  had  been  growing  more  and 
more  anxious  at  the  prospective  obligation  so  un 
expectedly  thrust  upon  him.) 

"  'Lijah,  jest  lemme  look  over  that  thar  paper- 
writin'  a  half  a  minute." 

He  took  it  and  pretended  to  scan  it  carefully, 
though  his  dim  eyes  could  not  make  out  a  word 
of  it  ;  then  he  said,  — 

"  Oh,  that  ain't  drawed  right  at  all,  —  not  the 
way  I  meant  it,  ner  understood  it,  nuther  !  "  And 
he  tore  it  in  scraps  and  threw  it  in  the  fire. 

So  ended  the  Spring  County  aid  to  the  Soul- 
sleepers'  College.  (The  college  probably  did  its 
work,  —  the  sect  seems  to  have  disappeared.) 

So,  too,  passed  away  Zury's  last  glimpse  of  ed 
ucational  progress,  except  the  sordid  training 
forced  upon  him  by  his  character  and  circum 
stances.  The  ship  had  sailed  without  him. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOW  THE  MEANEST  MAN  GOT  SO  MEAN,  AND 
HOW  MEAN  HE  GOT. 

EPHEAIM  wanted  Zury  to  marry,  but  it  was 
with  "  a  sharp  eye  to  the  main  chance."  Property 
and  personal  service  at  no  wages  might  both  be 
secured  by  a  judicious  choice.  Girls  were  not 
plenty,  but  at  the  Peddicombs'  there  were  three 
of  marriageable  age.  Their  place  was  only  three 
miles  from  Prouder's,  and  they  were  still  the  near 
est  neighbors.  Mrs.  Peddicomb  had  not  long  sur 
vived  the  birth  of  her  three  daughters.  She  died 
(as  was  and  is  common  among  farmers'  wives) 
at  not  much  over  thirty  years  of  age,  just  when 
her  life  ought  to  have  been  in  its  prime. 

She  was  called  a  "  Come  -  gals  kind  of  a 
woman  "  by  neighbors  ;  partly  in  ridicule  of  her 
enthusiasm,  and  partly  in  admiration  of  her  en 
ergy.  It  was  told  of  her  that  she  would  get  up 
before  light  on  Monday,  "  fly  'raound,"  uncover 
the  fire,  hang  on  the  kettle,  and  call  up  the  ladder 
to  the  loft,  — 

44  Come  gals  !  Dew  git  up  V  start  in  !  To 
day  's  Monday,  to-morrow 's  Tuesday,  'n'  next 
day's  Wednesday;  'n'  then  comes  Thursday, 
Friday,  'n'  Saturday,  —  the  hull  week  gone  'n' 
nothin'  done." 


HOW  THE  MEANEST  MAN  GOT  SO  MEAN.     75 

The  two  younger  girls  had  been  cared  for  by 
the  oldest,  and  so  had  retained  some  girlish  fresh 
ness  and  delicacy,  but  as  for  Mary  (the  caretaker 
after  her  mother's  death),  she  was  44  good-look 
ing  "  only  because  she  looked  good. 

On  this  marriage  subject  Ephraim  took  occa 
sion  to  speak  to  Zury. 

"Mary  Peddicornb,  she's  a  likely  gal." 

44  Mary?     Why  not  S'mautliy  V  Flory?" 

44  Oh,  yes  ;  they  're  all  right  tew.  Th'  oF  man 
he  's  got  th'  best  part  of  a  section.  Some  stwak, 
tew ;  V  th'  haouse  'n'  barn  's  fust  rate." 

44  Ya-as.  Ef  th'  haouse  'n'  barn  worn't  so  good 
he  'd  have  more  stawk  th't  'd  pay  him  right 
smart  better  'n  th'  haouse  'n'  barn  dooz." 

44Peddicomb  ain't  like  t'  marry  ag'in.  Mary 
she  '11  have  her  sheer." 

44  Any  more  'n  th'  others  ?  " 

"Oh,  no.  All  same.  But  I  reck'n  Mary  she'd 
be  more  of  a  manager.  She  kin  work!  I've 
watched  her  ever  sence  she  wuz  knee-high  to  a 
hoppy-toad,  'n'  I  tell  ye  she  kin  work  !  " 

44  Ef  ye  mean  more  manageable  ye  mought  's 
well  say  so." 

44  Wai,  I  dew  'llaow  she  'd  be  full  's  little  likely 
t'  be  uppish  's  th'  others." 

"  Ye  'llaow  't  humbly  and  humble  goes 
together  ?" 

"  Wai,  yes  ;  'mongst  the  wimrnin  folks,  substan 
tially.  Nothin'  sets  'em  so  bad  up  's  bein'  ha'ans'm. 
Spiles  'em  fer  use  abaout  the  place.  Th'  humbly 
ones  take  t'  milkin'  more  willin'  like ;  'n'  I  don't 


76  ZURY. 

see  but  what  the  caows  give  daown  tew  'em  full  's 
well  's  tew  the  ha'ans'm  ones.  'N'  then  when 
ther'  looks  goes  the'  're  apt  t'  kick." 

"What,  the  caows?" 

"No,  the  wimmin." 

("  Humbly  "  in  country  parlance  is  a  corrup 
tion  of  "  homely,"  the  opposite  of  handsome ; 
plain,  ungainly.  "Humbly  as  a  hedge  fence.") 

Zury  pondered  on  this  shrewd  counsel  from 
time  to  time,  but  took  no  step  toward  marrying. 

"  Right  smart  o'  things  t'  think  on  afore  th'  '11 
be  any  hurry  'baout  a-gittin'  marr'd.  Th'  feller 
th't  's  in  an  orfle  sweat  t'  marry,  he  's  li'ble  t'  be 
the  very  feller  th't  's  behindhand  with  everythin' 
else.  Takes  Time  by  the  forelock  'baout  gittin'  a 
wife ;  'n'  by  the  fetlock  'baout  gittin'  suthin'  fer 
her  t'  eat." 

The  boy  was  wedded  to  his  idols  quite  as 
faithfully,  if  not  quite  so  sordidly,  as  was  his 
father.  Their  dispositions  were  much  alike.  No 
draft  on  their  powers  of  endurance  and  self-denial 
could  be  too  great. 

As  to  niggardliness,  there  was  a  confessed 
rivalry  between  them.  Each  would  tell  of  the 
money-making  and  money-saving  exploits  of  the 
other,  and  of  his  efforts  to  surpass  them. 

"  Dad  's  a  screamer  t'  save  money  !  D'  ye  ever 
see  him  withe  a  plaow-pint  ontew  a  plaow?  Give 
him  a  hickory  grub,  'n'  he  kin  dew  it  so  it '11  run 
a  good  half  a  day ;  'n'  then  withe  it  on  agin  in 
noon-spell  whilst  th'  team  's  a  eatin',  'n'  then  withe 
it  on  agin  come  night  so  's  t'  be  ready  fer  nex' 


HOW  THE  MEANEST  MAN  GOT  SO  MEAN.     77 

morn'n',  V  keep  it  up  fer  a  week  that-a-way, 
sooner  'n  pay  th'  smith  a  cent  t'  rivit  it  fast." 

"  Thasso,  thasso,  Zury.  Hickory  twigs  is 
cheaper  ner  iron  any  day." 

"  Ya-as,  dad ;  but  then  I  kin  make  a  shillin' 
while  ye  're  a  savin'  a  cent.  Look  at  it  wunst. 
I  upped  'n'  sold  the  smith  a  half  an  acre,  'n'  took 
a  mortgage  on  it,  'n'  made  him  dew  all  aour 
repairin'  b'  way  of  interest  on  the  mortgage,  'n' 
then  foreclosed  th'  mortgage  when  it  come  dew, 
V  got  th'  land  back,  shop  'n'  all.  Business  is 
business  !  " 

Ephraim  always  wanted  to  buy  at  the  shop 
where  they  wrapped  up  the  purchases  with  the 
largest  and  strongest  paper  and  twine,  and  the 
harnesses  on  the  farm  gradually  grew  to  be  largely 
composed  of  twine.  Zury  could  buy  everything 
at  wholesale,  half  price,  including  merchandise, 
paper,  twine,  harnesses,  and  all. 

One  day  Zury  came  across  a  poor  little  boy 
carrying  a  poorer  little  puppy  and  crying  bitterly. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  sonny?  " 

"  Our  folks  girnme  a  dime  t'  draownd  this  h'yer 
purp,  'n'  I  —  I  —  I  —  hate  t'  dew  it." 

"  Wai,  ne'  mind,  bub  ;  gimme  the  dime  'n'  I  '11 
draownd  him  fer  ye." 

Whereupon  he  took  the  cash  and  the  pup  and 
walked  to  the  mill-pond,  while  the  boy  ran  home. 
Zury  threw  the  little  trembling  creature  as  far 
as  he  could  into  the  pond.  A  few  seconds  of 
wildly  waving  small  ears,  legs,  and  tail,  and  then 
a  splash,  and  then  nothing  but  widening  ripples. 


78  ZURY. 

But  out  of  one  of  the  ripples  is  poked  a  little 
round  object,  which  directs  itself  bravely  toward 
the  shore.  Nearer  and  nearer  struggles  the  small 
black  nozzle,  sometimes  under  water,  and  some 
times  on  top,  but  always  nearer. 

"  Ye  mis'able,  ornery  little  fyce,  ye !  Lemme 
ketch  ye  swimmiu'  ashore !  I  '11  throw  ye  furder 
nex'  time." 

At  last  poor  little  roly-poly  drags  itself  to  the 
land  and  squats  down  at  the  very  water's  edge, 
evidently  near  to  the  end  of  its  powers.  Zury 
picks  it  up  and  swings  it  for  a  mighty  cast,  but 
stops  and  studies  it  a  moment. 

u  Looks  fer  all  the  world  like  a  sheep-dawg- 
purp." 

Whereupon  he  slipped  it  into  his  pocket  and 
carried  it  home,  where  it  grew  up  to  be  a  fit  mate 
to  old  Shep,  and  the  ancestress  of  a  line  of  sheep 
dogs  which  ornament  Spring  County  to  this  day. 

Later,  when  the  same  boy,  grown  older,  applied 
to  Zury  for  one  of  the  pups,  he  charged  him  the 
full  price,  fifty  cents,  took  all  he  had,  thirty-six 
cents,  and  his  note  on  interest  for  the  balance, 
the  dog  being  pledged  as  security.  The  note  be 
ing  unpaid  when  due,  Zury  took  back  the  dog. 
"  Business  is  business !  " 

Years  passed,  and  it  came  time  for  the  old  man 
to  be  gathered  to  his  fathers  and  the  son  to  reign 
in  his  stead.  When  Ephraim  lay  on  his  death 
bed,  he  whispered  to  Zury :  — 

"  What  day 's  to-day  ?  " 


HOW  THE  MEANEST  MAN  GOT  SO  MEAN.     79 

"  Tuesday,  father?  " 

"I  hope  I'll  live  ontel  Thursday,  V  then  ye 
kin  hev  tlie  fun'r'l  Sunday,  V  not  lose  a  day's 
work  with  the  teams." 

He  did  not  die  till  Saturday  night,  but  Zury 
had  the  funeral  on  Sunday  all  the  same,  like  a 
dutiful  son  as  he  was,  bent  on  carrying  out  his 
father's  last  request. 

After  Zury  had  grown  to  be  a  prosperous 
farmer,  Chicago  became  the  great  market  for  the 
sale  of  grain.  Teams  by  the  score  would  start 
out  from  far  down  the  State,  and,  driving  during 
the  day  and  camping  at  night,  make  the  long 
journey.  They  would  go  in  pairs  or  squads  so  as 
to  be  able  to  double  teams  over  the  bad  places. 
Forty  or  fifty  bushels  could  thus  be  carried  in  one 
load,  when  the  chief  parts  of  the  roads  were  good, 
and  "the  ready  John  "  (hard  cash),  could  be  got 
for  the  grain,  at  twenty  or  thirty  cents  a  bushel 
for  corn  or  wheat.  This  sum  would  provide  a 
barrel  or  two  of  salt,  and  perhaps  a  plow  and  a 
bundle  of  dry  goods  and  knickknacks  for  the 
women  folks,  the  arrival  of  which  was  a  great 
event  in  the  lonely  farm-houses. 

Zury  had  now  working  for  him  (beside  Jule, 
who  kept  house  and  attended  to  the  live  stock), 
a  young  fellow  who  became  a  score  of  years  after 
ward  private,  corporal,  sergeant,  lieutenant,  and 
captain  in  the  —  th  Illinois  Volunteer  Infantry 
in  the  great  war.  From  his  stories,  told  in 
bivouacs  and  beside  camp  fires,  to  toiling,  strug 
gling,  suffering  "  boys  in  blue,"  these  tales  are 


80  ZURY. 

taken  almost  verbatim.  (Some  of  them  have 
already  found  their  way  into  print.) 

u  Zury  always  wanted  to  get  onto  the  road  with 
farmers  whose  housekeeping  was  good,  because 
his  own  was  —  well,  wuss  th'n  what  we  git  down 
here  in  Dixie,  an'  there 's  no  need  of  that.  Well, 
when  they  'd  halt  for  noon-spell,  Zury  he  'd  hap 
pen  along  promiscuous-like,  an'  most  generally 
some  of  'em  would  make  him  stop  an'  take  a 
bite.  He  was  good  company  if  he  was  so  near. 
'N'  then  a  man's  feed  warn't  counted  fer  much, 
unless  it  was  some  store-truck  or  boughten  stuff. 

"  But  one  day  they  jest  passed  the  wink  and 
sot  it  up  on  him,  and  come  noon-spell  nobody 
asked  Zury  an'  me  to  eat.  Zury  left  me  to  take 
care  of  both  teams  while  he  walked  up  and  down 
the  line  of  wagins.  Everybody  who  hadn't  'jest 
eat,'  warn't  '  quite  ready '  yet,  an'  by  the  next 
time  he  came  to  those  who  had  n't  been  '  quite 
ready,'  they'd  *  jest  eat.' 

"  Wai,  Zury  swallered  his  disappointment  and 
I  swallerd  all  the  chawed  wheat  I  could  git 
away  with,  and  the  first  settlement  we  passed 
Zury  went  and  bought  a  monstrous  big  bag  of 
sody-cr ackers,  and  we  eat  them  for  supper  and 
breakfast.  And  still  we  were  not  happy. 

"  Next  noon-spell  Zury  said,  '  Boys,  s'posin'  we 
kinder  whack  up  V  mess  together.'  Wai,  the 
others  'd  had  enough  of  their  joke,  and  so  they 
all  agreed,  and  chipped  in.  Ham,  pickles,  pies, 
cakes,  honey,  eggs,  apples,  and  one  thing  another. 
Ye  see  every  man's  o'  woman  knew  that  when  they 


HOW  THE  MEANEST  MAN  GOT  SO  MEAN.     81 

got  together,  her  housekeep  would  be  compared 
with  everybody  else's;  so  these  long  drives  were 
like  donation  parties,  or  weddings,  or  funerals, — 
well  fed. 

"  Of  course,  Zury's  sody-crackers  went  in  with 
the  rest,  an'  me  an'  Zury  always  ate  some  any 
how  for  appearance  sake.  I  could  see  the  fellers 
were  all  makin'  fun  of  Zury's  cute  dodge  of 
gettin'  a  dozen  good  meals  for  him  an'  me  at  the 
price  of  a  few  pounds  of  sody-crackers.  But  then, 
they  did  n't  know  Zury  so  well  as  they  thought 
they  did.  By  an'  by  the  trip  was  done  an' 
settlin'-up-time  came,  when  each  man  was  called 
on  for  his  share  of  pasturage,  ferriage,  an'  one 
thing  another.  Zury  paid  his,  but  he  deducted 
out  twenty-five  cents  paid  for  sody-crackers.  Said 
it  was  one  of  the  cash  outlays  for  the  common 
good,  an'  if  any  of  the  rest  of  'em  spent  money 
an'  did  n't  put  it  in,  more  fools  they.  Business 
is  business/' 

So  Zury  in  the  soda-cracker  episode  came  out 
"  top  of  the  heap "  as  usual.  The  top  of  the 
heap  was  his  accustomed  place,  but  still  he  per 
ceived  that  he  was  living  under  one  useless  dis 
ability,  and,  with  his  quick  adaptation  of  means 
to  ends  and  remedies  to  deficiencies,  he  simply 
—  married.  Tn  doing  this,  he  was  guided  by  his 
father's  shrewd  words ;  counsel  which  had  lain 
fallow  in  his  memory  for  years. 

Zury's  marriageability  had,  of  course,  not  been 
unobserved  in  the  household  of  the  three  daugh 
ters.  Peddicomb  had  remarked  what  a  good 


82  ZURY. 

"  outin' "  the  Prouders  had  made  in  their  pur 
chase  of  swine  from  him,  and  cherished  the  same 
kind  of  feeling  toward  them  that  most  of  us  ex 
perience  when  some  other  person  has  done  better 
in  a  joint  transaction  than  we  did. 

"  Them  Praouders,  the'  '11  skin  outer  the  land 
all  the'  kin  skin,  V  then  sell  offen  the  place  all 
't  anybody  '11  buy,  'n'  then  feed  t'  the  hawgs  all 
a  hawg  '11  eat,  'n'  then  give  th'  rest  t'  th'  dawg, 
'n'  then  what  th'  dawg  won't  tech  the'  '11  live  on 
theirselves." 

"  Yew  bet,"  tittered  Semantha,  the  second. 
"  That  thar  ornery  Zury  Praouder  he  'd  let  a 
woman  starve  t'  death  ef  he  could.  'N'  o'  man 
Praouder  wuz  th'  same  way,  tew.  Th'  o'  woman 
she  wuz  near  abaout  skin  'n'  bone  when  the' 
buried  her.  I  seen  her  in  her  coffin,  'n'  I  know." 

"  Oh,  don't  yew  be  scaret,  S'manthy.  I  hain't 
saw  Zury  a-lookin'  over  t'  your  side  o'  the 
meetin'-haonse,  no  gre't,"  kindly  rejoined  Flora, 
the  youngest  daughter. 

"Who,  me?  He  knows  better!  Not  ef  hus 
bands  wuz  scarcer  ner  hen's  teeth." 

"  Six  hunderd  'n'  forty  acres  o'  good  land,  all 
fenced  'n'  paid  fer  ;  'n'  a  big  orchard  ;  'n'  all  well 
stocked,  tew."  (He  added  this  with  a  pang,  re 
membering  once  more  the  pig-purchase,  which  by 
this  time  had  grown  to  a  mighty  drove,  spite  of 
many  sales.) 

"  Don't  care  ef  he  owned  all  ou'  doors.  Th' 
more  the'  've  got,  th'  more  it  shows  haow  stingy 
the'  be." 


HO  W  THE  MEANEST  MAN  GOT  SO  MEAN.     83 

Then  the  meek  Mary  ventured  a  remark. 

"  Mebbe  ef  Zury  wuz  t'  marry  a  good  gal  it  'd 
be  the  makin'  on  him." 

"  Oh,  Mary,  yew  hain't  no  call  t'  stan'  up  fer 
Zury  !  Th*  o'  man  he  'd  a  ben  more  in  yewr  line." 

"  No,  Zury  wouldn't  want  me,  ner  no  other 
man,  I  don't  expect,"  she  answered  with  a  laugh 
—  and  a  sigh. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  Zury  rode  over  to  Ped- 
dicomb's  to  get  a  wife.  He  tried  to  decide  which 
girl  to  ask,  but  his  mind  would  wander  off  to 
other  subjects, — crops,  live  stock,  bargains,  in 
vestments.  He  did  n't  much  think  that  either 
girl  he  asked  would  say  no,  but  if  she  did,  he 
could  ask  the  others.  When  he  came  near  the 
house  he  caught  sight  of  one  of  the  girls,  in  her 
Sunday  clothes,  picking  a  "posy"  in  the  "front 
garding."  It  was  Mary. 

"  Good  day,  Mary.     Haow  's  all  the  folks  ?  " 

"  Good  day,  Zury  —  Mr.  Praouder,  I  s'pose  I 
should  say.  Won't  ye  'light  ?  " 

u  Wai,  I  guess  not.  I  jes'  wanted  t'  speak 
abaout  a  little  matter." 

"  Wai,  father  he  's  raoun'  some  'ers.  Haow  's 
the  folks  t'  your  'us  ?  " 

"  All  peart ;  that  is  t'  say  th'  ain't  no  one  naow 
ye  know,  but  me  'n'  Jule  'n'  Mac.  That  makes 
a  kind  of  a  bob-tail  team,  ye  know,  Mary.  No 
body  but  Jule  t'  look  out  fer  things.  Not  b't 
what  he  's  a  pretty  fair  of  a  nigger  as  niggers  go. 
He  c'd  stay  raoun'  'n'  help  some  aoutside." 

"Whatever  is  he  a-drivin'  at?"  thought  Mary, 
but  she  said  nothing. 


84  ZURY. 

"  The's  three  of  you  gals  to  hum.  Ye  don't 
none  of  ye  seem  t'  go  off  yit,  tho'  I  sh'd 
a-thought  Flory  she  'd  a-ben  picked  up  afore  this, 
'n'  S'manthy  tew  fer  tliat  matter." 

Neither  of  them  saw  the  unintended  slur  this 
rough  speech  cast  upon  poor  Mary. 

44  Don't  ye  think  we  'd  better  git  married, 
Mary  ?  " 

"What,  me?" 

"Wai,  yes."  He  answered  this  in  a  tone 
where  she  might  have  detected  the  suggestion, 
"  Or  one  of  your  sisters,"  if  she  had  been  keen 
and  critical.  But  she  was  neither.  She  simply 
rested  her  work-worn  hand  upon  the  gate  post 
and  her  chin  upon  her  hand,  and  looked  dream 
ily  off  over  the  prairie.  She  pondered  the  novel 
proposition  for  some  time,  but  fortunately  not 
quite  long  enough  to  cause  Zury  to  ask  if  either 
of  her  sisters  was  at  home,  as  he  was  quite  capa 
ble  of  doing. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  the  blood  slowly  mount 
ing  to  her  face,  and  considered  how  to  say  yes. 
He  saw  that  she  meant  yes,  so  he  helped  her  out 
a  little.  He  wanted  to  have  it  settled  and  go. 

14  Wai,  Mary,  silence  gives  consent,  they  say. 
When  shall  it  be?" 

u  Oh,  yew  ain't  in  no  hurry,  Zury,  I  don't  ex 
pect." 

He  was  about  to  urge  prompt  action,  but  the 
thought  occurred  to  him  that  she  must  want  to 
get  her  "  things "  ready,  and  the  longer  she 
waited  the  more  4t  things  "  she  would  bring  with 
her.  So  he  said :  — 


HO  W  THE  MEANEST  MAN  GOT  SO  MEAN.     85 

"  Suit  yerself,  Mary.  I  '11  drop  over  'n'  see  ye 
nex'  Sunday,  'n'  we  '11  fix  it  all  up." 

Mary  bad  no  objection  to  urge,  though  possibly 
in  her  secret  heart  she  wished  there  had  been  a 
little  more  sentiment  and  romance  about  it.  No 
woman  likes  "to  be  cheated  out  of  her  wooing," 
but  then  this  might  come  later.  He  called  for  her 
with  the  wagon  on  the  appointed  day,  and  they 
drove  to  the  house  of  a  justice  of  the  peace  who 
lived  a  good  distance  away.  This  was  not  for  the 
sake  of  making  a  wedding  trip,  but  because  this 
particular  justice  owed  Zury  money,  as  Zury  care 
fully  explained. 

And  so  Mary  went  to  work  for  Zury  very  much 
as  Jule  did,  only  it  was  for  less  wages,  as  Jule  got 
a  dollar  a  month  besides  his  board  and  clothes, 
while  Mary  did  not. 

For  a  year  or  two  or  three  after  marriage 
(during  which  two  boys  were  born  to  them)  Zury 
found  that  he  had  gained,  by  this  investment, 
something  more  than  mere  profit  and  economy  — 
that  affection  and  sympathy  were  realities  in  life. 
But  gradually  the  old  dominant  mania  resumed 
its  course,  and  involved  in  its  current  the  weak 
wife  as  well  as  the  strong  husband.  The  general 
verdict  was  that  both  Zury  and  Mary  were  4t  jest 's 
near  's  they  could  stick  'n'  live."  "  They  'd  skin 
a  flea  fer  its  hide  'n'  taller." 

"  He  gin  an  acre  o'  graound  fer  the  church  'n' 
scule-house,  'n'  it  raised  the  value  of  his  hull 
farm  more  'n'  a  dollar  an  acre.  'N'  when  he  got 
onto  the  scule-board  she  'llaowed  she  hadn't  re- 


86  ZURY. 

leased  her  daower  right,  V  put  him  up  t'  tax  the 
deestrick  f er  the  price  of  that  same  acre  o'  ground." 

So  Zury,  claiming  the  proud  position  of  "  the 
meanest  ma-an  in  Spring  Caounty,"  would  like  to 
hear  his  claim  disputed.  If  he  had  a  rival  he 
would  like  to  have  him  pointed  out,  and  would 
"  try  pootty  hard  but  what  he  'd  match  him." 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  these  grasping  charac 
teristics  did  not  make  Zury  despised  or  even  dis 
liked  among  his  associates.  His  "  meanness  "  was 
not  underhanded. 

"  Th'  ain't  nothin'  mean  abaout  Zury,  mean  's 
he  is.  Gimme  a  man  as  sez  right  aout  '  look  aout 
fer  yerself,'  'n'  I  kin  git  along  with  him.  It 's 
these  h'yer  sneakin'  fellers  th't  's  one  thing  afore 
yer  face  'n'  another  behind  yer  back  th't  I  can't 
abide.  Take  ye  by  th'  beard  with  one  hand  'n' 
smite  ye  under  th'  fifth  rib  with  t'  other !  He 
pays  his  way  'n'  dooz  's  he  'grees  every  time. 
When  he  buys  'taters  o'  me,  I  'd  jest  's  live  's  hev 
him  measure  'em  's  measure  'em  myself  with  him 
a-lookin'  on.  He  knows  haow  t'  trade,  'n'  ef  yew 
don't,  he  don't  want  ye  t'  trade  with  him,  that's 
all ;  ner  t'  grumble  if  ye  git  holt  o'  the  hot  eend 
o'  th'  poker  arter  he  's  give  ye  fair  notice.  Bet 
ter  be  shaved  with  a  sharp  razor  than  a  dull  one;" 

On  an  occasion  when  the  honesty  of  a  more 
pretentious  citizen  was  compared  with  Zury's,  to 
the  advantage  of  the  latter,  he  said:  — 

"  Honest  ?  Me  ?  Wai,  I  guess  so.  Fustly,  I 
wouldn't  be  nothV  else,  noliaow;  seck'ndly,  I 
kin  'fford  t'  be,  seein'  's  haow  it  takes  a  full  bag 


HOW  THE  MEANEST  MAN  GOT  SO  MEAN.     87 

t'  stand  alone ;  thirdly,  I  can't  'fford  t'  be  noth'n* 
else,  coz  honesty  's  th'  best  policy." 

He  was  evidently  quoting,  unconsciously  but  by 
direct  inheritance,  the  aphorisms  of  his  fellow 
Pennsylvania!!,  Dr.  Franklin. 

In  peace  as  in  war  strong  men  love  "  foemen 
worthy  of  their  steel."  Men  liked  to  be  with 
Zury  and  hear  his  gay,  shrewd  talk ;  to  trade  with 
him,  and  meet  his  frankly  brutal  greed.  He  en 
joyed  his  popularity,  and  liked  to  do  good  turns  to 
others  when  it  cost  him  nothing.  When  elected 
to  local  posts  of  trust  and  confidence  he  served 
the  public  in  the  same  efficient  fashion  in  which 
he  served  himself,  and  he  was  therefore  contin 
ually  elected  to  school  directorships  and  other  like 
"  thank  'ee  jobs." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  BKAVE   GIRL  —  THOUGH   A   COWAKD. 

"  TELL  ye  what,  pardners,"  said  Zury  one  day 
to  his  associates  on  the  school  board,  "  Johnny 
McVey  that  works  to  the  tavern,  he  's  hed  a  letter 
from  a  feller  he  knowed  in  Massychusetts  ;  a  Bos 
ton  doctor  'n'  a  good  one,  tew ;  askin'  ef  a  gal  —  a 
ra-al  smart  gal — kin  git  a  jawb  a  scule-teachin' 
aout  h'yer.  Sez  she  's  got  a  big  notion  o'  comin' 
West.  I  told  him  t'  write  t'  hev  her  come  along. 
Plenty  o'  room  h'yer  fer  her  t'  grow  up  with  th' 
keel  n  try.  Ef  she  can't  keep  school  she  kin  keep 
company  with  some  o'  th'  boys.  Gals  is  so  paow- 
erfle  scuss.  It  won't  matter  ef  she 's  caovv- 
hocked,  parrot-toed,  ewe-necked,  'n'  hain't  got  but 
one  eye,  'n'  that  one  a  squinter.  Some  feller  '11 
take  up  with  her." 

Zury's  "  pardners,"  three  of  the  other  members 
of  the  school  board,  kept  a  grim  silence  until  he 
was  out  of  hearing,  then  they  broke  forth  :  — 

"  Say,  fellers,  mebbe  th'  legislatur  's  upped  'n' 
'p'inted  Zury  a  guardeen  over  we-uns,  'n'  we  ain't 
never  heer'd  the  news  till  naow." 

"  Looks  like  it,  don't  it,  naow  ?  Him  a  sendin' 
fer  a  gal-teacher  unbeknownst  t'  us  !  Some  stuck- 
up,  white-faced,  soft-handed,  hifalutin'  silk-stockin' 


A  BRAVE   GIRL  — THOUGH  A   COWARD.      89 

th't  never  went  bar-foot  ner  did  a  day's  work  in 
her  life ! " 

"  Ah,  yah  !  Her  a-comin'  aout  h'yer  t'  keep 
Deestrick  Scule  Number  Seven  !  She  '11  be  outer 
th'  poor-farm  afore  ye  know  it." 

"  I  believe  ye.  Set  a  city  gal  at  that  thar  jawb 
that's  beat  aout  men,  ra'al  men,  that  '11  aout- 
weigh  three  on  her !  " 

"  Ye  're  mighty  right.  Thar 's  Johnny  McVey, 
he  ain't  no  great  shakes  fer  a  man,  but  he  kin 
lick  any  gal  that 's  goin'.  'N'  jest  see  haow  th' 
boys  jest  massacreed  him  !  Kep'  school  jest  a  day, 
not — hardly  that,  neither." 

"  Why,  that  thar  gal  won't  be  but  a  maouthfle 
apiece  fer  Sile  Anstey  'n'  John  Felser ;  'n'  not  a 
bite  left  fer  the  rest  t'  chaw  on  !  " 

"Wai,  jest  let  her  come  'n'  try  it  on,  that's 
all !  Zury  Praouder  !  Smart  Aleck  'd  oughter 
he  his  other  name  !  " 

The  young  woman  whom  McVey  had  sent  for, 
and  who,  with  all  the  reckless  and  splendid  cour 
age  of  New  England  youth,  self-reliance,  and  in 
experience,  had  taken  her  life  in  her  hand  and 
journeyed  into  the  unknown  wild,  is  well  worth 
a  few  paragraphs,  historical,  biographical,  and 
descriptive. 

At  the  very  time  when  Prouder  and  his  neigh 
bors  were  wagoning  corn  all  the  way  from  Spring 
County  to  Chicago,  a  young  girl  named  Anne 
Sparrow  was  growing  up  in  a  Lowell  cotton-fac 
tory,  wearing  out  her  shoes  and  a  clean  pine  floor 
by  her  ceaseless  tread,  to  and  fro,  behind  frames 


90  ZURY. 

which  held  hundreds  of  whirring  spindles.  As 
she  walked,  with  a  springy,  half-dancing  step,  she 
kept  time  to  the  rhythm  of  the  machinery  and 
sang  or  whistled,  clear  and  shrill,  some  pretty  air 
to  the  same  measure.  She  was  handsome  in  a 
style  of  beauty  not  then  in  vogue,  though  highly 
favored  a  few  years  later,  a  tall,  lithe,  strong 
blonde,  with  red  hair,  gay,  brave  blue  eyes,  and  a 
red-and-white  and  freckly  skin. 

The  threads  twisted  by  those  spindles  were  con 
stantly  breaking,  which  gave  her  the  duty  (back- 
ache-y  at  first,  but  easy  afterward)  of  leaning 
over  the  frames  and  deftly  re-uniting  them,  which 
service  earned  a  pretty  good  living  for  herself  and 
widowed  mother.  The  widow  was  intellectual,  — 
even  literary  in  a  modest  way,  —  for  she  edited 
the  local  weekly  paper  which  published  or  de 
clined  with  thanks  the  crude  offerings  of  the 
work-girls  of  the  factory- town.  Anne  herself, 
grew  up  with  a  great  deal  of  desultory  knowl 
edge,  largely  the  result  of  reading  the  books  sent 
to  the  "  weekly  "  for  review,  at  first  to  aid  her 
mother  in  writing  the  book-notices,  and  later  to 
enable  her  to  write  them  herself. 

"  My  happiest  days  "  (she  said,  long  afterward) 
"  were  those  when  the  paper  came  out  containing 
something  I  had  written.  I  tried  to  fancy  that  it 
looked  like  the  things  in  the  "  Boston  Transcript." 
I  was  always  hoping  the  "  Transcript"  would  copy 
something  I  had  written,  —  but  it  never  did!  I 
would  conjure  up  things  as  I  worked,  and  then 
write  and  re-write  them  ;  and  sometimes  (not  of- 


A   BRAVE   GIRL— THOUGH  A    COWARD.      91 

ten)  they  looked  bright  when  printed ;  but  it 
made  no  difference.  Nobody  cared  whether  they 
were  bright  or  not."  (A  smiling  sigh.) 

Among  the  books  she  read  and  reviewed  were 
those  to  which  Fourier  gave  his  name,  and  she 
became  deeply  impressed  with  the  plausible  views 
they  set  forth.  She  and  her  mother  were  above 
their  business,  their  neighbors,  and  their  circum 
stances,  —  an  offense  never  forgiven  by  any  com 
munity  since  the  world  began.  So  the  aging  and 
failing  mother  and  the  growing  girl  were  essen 
tially  alone  in  the  world.  When  Anne  ap 
proached  marriageable  age  she  saw  that  no  one 
whom  she  would  marry  would  ever  offer  him 
self. 

Society  has  created  a  cruel  fate  for  lonely  wo 
men.  Every  theory  which  seems  to  provide  a 
place  for  the  unmarried  millions  of  the  gentle 
sex  finds  a  natural  following  of  adherents  among 
them.  Even  Mormonism  is  not  coarse  enough  to 
repel  the  lower  orders  of  the  race,  abhorrent  as 
it  is  to  the  refined.  Fourierism  aimed  at  giving 
every  human  being  an  honorable  chance  to  live ; 
no  wonder  it  gained  passionate  adherents  from 
the  ranks  of  New  England  women,  Anne  Spar 
row  among  the  rest. 

The  widow's  death  soon  left  the  daughter  alone 
and  desolate,  and  she  drifted  quite  into  the 
stream  of  the  most  "  advanced  thinkers."  She 
wrote  some  articles  for  the  Boston  papers,  which 
were  always  published  —  until  she  suggested  a 
little  pay  for  her  contributions.  Some  of  the 


92  ZURY. 

leading  people  among  the  "  new-lights  "  learned 
her  name,  and  wrote  kindly  to  her,  —  a  gleam  of 
light  in  her  darkness.  A  young  doctor,  who  had 
attended  her  mother  in  her  last  illness,  had  a  great 
influence  among  the  "  come-outers,"  and  Anne 
joined  their  ranks  under  his  guidance. 

The  whole  story  of  the  New  England  "  social 
istic  movement "  has  never  been  told,  and  prob 
ably  never  will  be  ;  certainly  not  until  the  gener 
ation  of  its  actors  shall  have  passed  away.  The 
annals  of  Brook  Farm  give  only  the  surface  of 
events.  As  to  Anne's  part  in  it,  we  need  not  in 
quire  how  far  from  the  beaten  track  her  "  broad 
views  "  led  her.  Whatever  she  did  was  not  done 
from  wickedness ;  it  was  in  accordance  with  her 
honest  opinions  of  right  and  wrong,  and  not  in 
violation  of  them.  Her  lips  are  sealed  ;  she  had 
neither  praise  nor  blame  to  bestow  on  her  former 
friends  at  the  time  when  she  begins  to  be  con 
nected  with  our  story.  That  is,  when  her  theo 
ries,  her  independence,  her  pride,  her  strength, 
her  weakness,  had  led  her  far  out  into  the  West, 
—  to  Wayback  in  Spring  County,  Illinois. 

One  of  her  characteristics  (mental  or  physical, 
it  is  hard  to  say  which)  must  be  touched  upon 
because  it  affects  her  future.  By  some  accident, 
perhaps  an  inherited  or  at  least  an  inborn  ten 
dency,  she  was  morbidly  sensitive  to  darkness 
As  a  little  child  if  she  awoke  alone,  after  bein<j: 

O 

put  to  sleep,  she  would  scream  "  Mother !  "  at  the 
top  of  her  voice  until  help  cnme  ;  and  later,  when 
the  widow  tried  to  reason  with  her,  she  confessed 


A  BRAVE   GIRL— THOUGH  A    COWARD.      93 

that  if  she  were  alone  at  night,  and  knew  the 
house  was  on  fire,  she  could  more  easily  be  burned 
in  her  bed  than  put  her  feet  on  the  unseen  floor. 
Her  intellect  recognized  this  as  a  kind  of  insan 
ity,  but  it  was  no  more  to  be  conquered  than  is 
that  of  the  poor  lunatic  who  kills  himself  to  es 
cape  imaginary  perils  threatening  his  life. 

So  it  was  the  rule  of  the  little  household  that 
Anne  should  never  be  left  alone  at  night.  To 
gether  she  and  her  mother  sat  at  home ;  together 
they  went  out  (though  seldom) ;  and  together 
they  slept  and  woke.  Then  when  her  mother 
died  — 

Poor,  suffering,  lonesome  girl !  To  die,  sud 
denly,  was  her  nightly  longing;  but  luckily  — 
sometimes  afterward  she  said  unluckily  —  she  was 
sane  enough  to  fear  that  too. 

Among  her  mother's  papers  she  found  a  slip 
which  had  been  made  as  the  record  of  an  incident 
she  herself  had  forgotten.  It  was  used  in  an  ef 
fort  to  get  medical  relief,  —  so  the  doctor  told  her 
when  they  afterward  became  acquainted.  Here 
it  is :  — 

"  Oh,  mother  —  mother  dear  —  I'm  so  glad 
you  've  come  to  bed  —  at  last !  I  heard  a  noise  — 
and  I  got  afraid  I  was  going  to  be  frightened. 
And  then  the  bed  and  the  room  began  to  move 
about  like  a  boat  —  and  I  got  almost  seasick  — 
and  then  I  shuddered,  and  the  goose-flesh  came 
all  down  my  back  and  on  my  legs;  —  just  feel 
them  !  —  and  I  could  hear  my  hair  crawl  about  on 


94  ZURY. 

the  pillow  —  and  I  tried  to  call  out  but. I  could  n't ! 
And  then  you  came,  and  I  didn't  quite  get  fright 
ened  after  all." 

At  the  end  was  appended  in  another  hand  (the 
doctor's)  this  quotation  :  "  Comes  erectce  stant ; 
vox  faucibus  hcesit"  and  some  medical  hiero 
glyphics. 

The  triumph  of  the  rebellious  scholars  over 
their  teacher  at  the  last  attempted  term  of  the 
Way  back  school  made  Anne's  prospect  a  very 
gloomy  one.  To  this  threatening  danger  must  be 
added  the  prejudice  conceived  against  her  by  a 
majority  of  the  school  board  because  Zury  had  in 
vited  her  without  their  advice  and  consent. 

Fancy,  now,  a  meeting  of  that  august  body, 
composed  of  fonr  farmers  all  alike  in  attainments 
of  "  book-larninY'  except  that  three  of  them 
could  almost  read  and  write,  while  the  fourth 
could  not.  The  place  is  the  log  school-house  in 
the  woods  between  Wayback  and  the  Prouder 
Farm.  (Zury  Prouder  was  unluckily  away.)  The 
time  is  evening,  starry  on  the  prairie,  but  dark 
ness  under  the  giant  trees  that  surround  the  school- 
house.  The  light  (material)  is  one  tallow  dip; 
the  light  (intellectual)  consists  of  the  afore-men 
tioned  four  members  of  the  school  board  of  Way- 
back  district  and  Anne  Sparrow. 

"  Miss  Sparrer,  this  h'yer's  brother  Peddicomb, 
and  this 's  brother  Sapp,  an  brother  Anstey. 
My  name  is  Bromwell,  Ornri  Bromwell."  (The 
pronunciation  of  these  sounding  syllables  was 


A   BRAVE   GIRL  — THOUGH  A    COWARD.    95 

evidently  a  strengthening  exercise,  precious  as  an 
antidote  to  any  modesty  or  self-distrust.) 

"  Brother  Proauder  and  brother  Braown,  they  're 
absent,  but,  as  is  well  known,  four  is  a  quorum  of 
six.  If  we  're  all  agreed,  we  '11  now  proceed  to 
examine  yew  as  a  candidate  fer  teacher  of  Dees- 
trick  Scule  Number  Seven." 

Anne  had  no  difficulty  in  "  doing"  all  the  little 
arithmetical  "  sums  "  they  propounded  "  up  to  the 
rule  o'  three."  Her  handwriting  was  tolerable. 
Spelling  was  her  forte,  and  she  "  floored  "  phthisic 
and  indefatigability  and  incomprehensibility  with 
out  murmur.  The  doughty  four  began  to  fear 
they  would  have  no  chance  to  exercise  their  unac 
customed  authority,  —  unaccustomed  because  this 
was  the  first  time  they  had  ever  met  without 
Prouder  and  Squire  Brown,  who  were  the  ruling 
spirits  of  the  board  —  and  also  to  fear  they  could 
not  give  to  Zury  the  desired  "  set-back." 

But  their  great  hope  lay  in  the  "  back  part  o'  the 
spellin'-book."  They  could  not  answer  the  ques 
tions,  but  by  painful  effort,  eyes  on  line  and  finger 
on  word,  they  could  ask  them  ;  and  then  by  the 
same  process  they  could  compare  the  spoken 
answers  with  the  printed  ones.  Poor  Anne  felt  her 
courage  dissolving  into  thin  air  as  the  grand  in 
quisitors  marked  question  after  question  u  missed  " 
when  she  had  given  the  sense  instead  of  the  words 
in  her  answer.  If  she  could  only  have  given  the 
words  and  reversed  the  sense  she  would  have  been 
quite  safe.  Every  little  while  a  brother  would 
moisten  his  fingers  with  nature's  lubricator  and 


96  ZURY. 

snuff  the  tallow  dip  which  served  to  show  the 
darkness  of  the  squalid  school-room,  subsequently 
cleaning  his  fingers  on  his  garments  in  a  vain 
effort  to  save  the  page  from  a  little  more  grime ; 
and  on  each  of  those  occasions  she  would  see  in 
the  sinking  candle  an  emblem  of  her  sinking 
heart. 

At  last  the  fateful  four  retired  outside  the  door 
into  the  vocal  silence  and  lumined  darkness  of  the 
dewy  woods  to  consult  on  the  candidacy. 

The  consultation  was  short,  and  to  a  great  ex 
tent  inaudible,  but  evidently  all  on  one  side. 

"  She  got  the  parts  o'  grammar  Othorgaphy  an' 
Entomology  all  right ;  an'  Sign  Tax  after  she 
thort  awhile ;  but  she  left  aout  Prosody  altogether." 

"  She  did  n't  seem  t'  git  a-holt  on  a  verb  agree- 
in'  with  its  nomitive  in  number  'n'  person,  nei 
ther  :  thort  they  orter  '  correspond.'  Agree  's  the 
word  in  the  book." 

"  To  be  sure  !  Ye  correspond  with  a  man  ontel 
y'  agree  with  him  'n'  then  yer  correspondence 
draps." 

"  Yes,  sir  !  'N'  when  she  tried  t'  tell  what* an 
adverb  '11  qualify,  she  left  aout  'other  adverbs,' 
teetotally." 

"  Ye  reckleck  brother  McVey  he  answered  every 
question." 

"  Yew  bet !  'N'  if  all  the  boys  had  n't  a  ben 
able  fer  to  a  licked  him,  brother  McVey  he  'd  a 
done  fust-rate." 

So  all  who  spoke  were  of  one  mind ;  each  try 
ing  to  show  the  others  that  he  had  detected  a 


A  BRAVE   GIRL— THOUGH  A   COWARD.       97 

failure  on  Anne's  part,  —  some  glaring  and  inex 
cusable  and  irremediable  defect  in  her  education. 
The  poor  girl,  divining  what  was  going  on,  was 
almost  hysterical  in  her  discomfiture.  Had  she 
come  all  this  way  by  railroad,  steamboat,  canal- 
boat,  and  stage  to  find  out  that  she  was  unfit  to 
teach  anything,  however  simple,  to  anybody,  how 
ever  ignorant  ?  Had  she  (metaphorically)  de 
scended  to  the  very  foot  of  the  social  ladder  to  be 
told  that  she  must  go  lower  or  starve  ?  Poor  girl ! 
Alone,  homeless,  friendless,  almost  moneyless, — 
she  passed  a  very  bad  quarter  of  an  hour. 

The  mighty  tetrapod  approached  the  school- 
house  door  to  go  in  and  tell  her  her  doom.  But 
now  brother  Anstey,  who  not  being  able  to  read 
or  write  had  never  before  been  known  to  utter  a 
word,  put  in  his  little  oar.  As  his  disability  shut 
him  out  from  any  active  part  in  the  oral  examina 
tion,  he  had  simply  sat  in  the  shadow  during  its 
progress  and  scanned  the  candidate's  whitening 
face,  great  scared  eyes,  and  quivering  lips.  Now 
he  said,  — 

"  Brother  Bromwell,  somehoaw  it  don't  seem 
t'  me  's  haow  we  ain't  got  no  quorum  t'  act  fer 
keeps,  s'  long  's  brother  Praouder  'n'  brother 
Braown  ain't  h'yer." 

"I  don't  'llaow  t'  let  brother  Praouder  'n' 
brother  Braown  have  the  say-so  'baout  everythin'." 

"  'N'  four  's  a  quorum  o'  six,  every  time," 
added  the  brother  who  had  laboriously  acquired 
this  one  item  of  (inaccurate)  parliamentary  in 
formation,  and  no  more. 


98  ZURY. 

"Ef  the'  worn't  but  three  on  us  we  couldn't 
do  nauthV,  but  four's  a  quorum/' 

"  Oh,  four 's  a  quorum,  is  it  ?  "  said  brother 
Anstey,  and  then  his  little  eyes  twinkled,  and  he 
slipped  off  around  the  corner  of  the  school-house, 
chuckled  to  himself,  fought  mosquitoes,  and  peeped 
in  at  the  window  ;  and  this  is  what  he  saw. 

The  three  learned  worthies  filed  portentously 
in,  wise  as  owls,  and  far  more  solemn.  Said 
brother  Bromwell  :  — 

"  Miss  Sparrer,  we  've  considered  your  case  'n' 
reached  a  conclusion  ;  'n'  so  's  you  kin  see  that 
everythin'  's  done  in  pro  formy  'n'  'cordin'  t'  law, 
we  will  take  the  vote  right  here  afore  ye.  Our 
board  's  composed  of  six,  'n'  consekently  four  's  a 
quorum  by  law  as  you  are  doubtless  aweer.  Gen 
tlemen,  all  as  is  in  favior  of  votin'  t'  hev  Miss 
Sparrer  excepted  'n'  ingaged  as  teacher  of  Dees- 
trick  Scule  Number  Seven  '11  please  signify  it  by 
sayin'  why  wheer  's  brother  Anstey  ?  " 

This  oration  with  its  absurd  close,  all  spoken 
in  one  breath,  was  too  much  for  the  overcharged 
feelings  of  poor  Anne,  and  she  burst  out  laugh 
ing.  She  could  n't  have  helped  it  if  her  life  had 
depended  on  it,  instead  of  simply  her  living. 
It  turned  out  all  right,  however :  it  made  the 
brothers  look  foolish,  and  left  her  mistress  of  the 
situation, — a  safer  state  of  things  than  if  they 
had  gone  off  leaving  a  crushed  fellow-mortal  as  a 
gratifying  trophy  of  their  power. 

"  He  must  a  mistook  'n'  thought  we  wuz  through. 
I'll  step  t'  the  door  'n'  holler  to  him." 


A   BRAVE   GIRL— THOUGH  A    COWARD.       99 

Then  Anne  heard,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life, 
the  peculiar  intonation  with  which  Westerners  and 
Southerners  shout  aloud,  —  giving  great  force  to 
the  "  Oh  !  "  and  slighting  the  rest  of  the  cry. 

"  O-H-H-H  brother  Anstey  !  " 

But  of  course  brother  Anstey  was  n't  to  be  had. 
He  had  been  moved  by  some  unsuspected  and  al 
most  unimaginable  tender  and  sympathizing  chord 
in  his  rough  nature  to  "  break  that  quorum  if  it 
cost  him  a  leg !  "  as  he  afterward  gleefully  de 
clared,  and  so  he  kept  himself  well  hidden  and 
let  the  shout  echo  unanswered  over  and  beyond 
and  around  him,  and  away  through  miles  of  si 
lent,  shadowy  tree-trunks  and  branches  ;  silencing 
many  a  low-voiced  forest  denizen,  making  many  a 
night-brooding  beast,  bird,  and  insect  pause  and 
listen ;  but  extorting  no  response  from  him,  a 
hundred  feet  away,  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 

"  O-H-H-H  brJther  Anstey  !  " 

Even    old    Shep,    at   the    Prouder   farm-house, 
heard  the  "  O-H-H-H,"  and  set  up  his  answering 
bark ;  and  to  him  other  watch-dogs  replied,  — 
"  Down  the  coast,  each  taking  up  the  burden," 

so  that,  for  aught  we  know,  it  may  have  spread  on 
and  on,  in  ever-widening  circles,  until  it  reached 
the  Mississippi  on  the  west,  the  Great  Lakes  on 
the  north,  the  Ohio  on  the  south,  and  daylight  in 
the  east.  There  seems  no  perceptible  reason  why, 
in  that  quiet,  breezeless  starlight,  inhabited  by 
from  a  dog  and  a  half  to  ten  dogs  per  square 
mile,  the  chorus  should  ever  come  to  a  halt,  —  why 
every  dog  that  heard  that  shout  should  not  bark ; 


100  ZURY. 

and  every  dog  that  heard  that  dog,  and  so  on  to 
an  extent  which  the  imagination  fails  to  grasp  in 
its  monstrous  possibilities.  (This  digression  just 
about  measures  the  delay  in  waiting  for  brother 
Anstey's  answer.) 

Meanwhile  the  conviction  was  deepening  and 
hardening  in  the  little  assembly  at  the  school- 
house,  that  the  august  body  must  ignominiously 

—  go  home. 

"  Zury  Praouder  ain't  no  man  fer  a  school-di 
rector —  away  all  of  his  time,  buyin'  'n'  sellin' 
cattle  'n'  truck,  'n'  tradin'  hosses  'n'  sech-like." 

"  Miss  Sparrer,  I  'xpeck  we  've  got  t'  git  another 
meetin'  t'  morrer  night,  ef  s'  be  ye  kin  be  'raound 

—  'n'  think  it  wuth  yer  while." 

"  T'morrer  's  Sat'd'y  ;  mebbe  we  kin  git  t'  git 
t'gether  t'  th'  tahvern  t'  Wayback,  'n'  save  Miss 
Sparrer  a-comin'  daown  h'yer." 

Manifestly  this  was  an  expedient  to  "  let  her 
down  easy  "  and  spare  her  and  them  a  journey 
which  must,  after  all,  prove  fruitless.  Still,  Anne 
took  it  as  a  sure  opening  to  success,  and  accepted 
it  joyfully.  The  hearty  laugh  had  had  its  due  re 
flex  influence  on  her  spirits :  she  slipped  the  old 
spelling-book  into  her  pocket,  and  simply  resolved 
to  learn  the  whole  "back  part"  by  heart  during 
the  next  day. 

"  Bid  ye  good-night,  Miss  Sparrer,  'n'  wish  ye 
well.  S'pose  ye  kin  find  yer  way  t'  the  tahvern 

—  ye  can't  miss  it,  'n'  it 's  safe  enough.    We  don't 
none  o'  us  happen  t'  be  a-livin'  that  way,  'xcep' 
brother  Anstey,  'n'  he  's  gone." 


A  BRAVE   GIRL— THOUGH  A   COWARD.    101 

Alone !  Were  they  men  ?  Could  they  leave 
her  in  that  black  place  alone !  She  is  going  to 
be  frightened,  surely  !  Oh,  horror  !  Oh,  desola 
tion  !  She  must  call  to  them  —  she  must  call  for 
help  —  she  must  scream  out  loud  to  break  this 
dreadful  silence  !  But  not  a  sound  will  her  dry 
and  hollow  throat  give  forth.  Once  more  her 
old  well-known  fear  of  being  frightened  fell  upon 
her  with  a  force  greater  than  ever  before.  Her 
hair  took  on  its  horrid  independent  life  and  moved 
audibly  and  sensibly  beneath  her  hat,  and  rough 
ening  chills  shot  over  her  body  and  limbs. 

What  were  all  previous  terrors  compared  to 
this  !  The  trees  were  so  huge  and  black  !  The 
world  was  so  big  —  and  she  so  small !  The  peo 
ple  were  all  so  far,  far  away !  O  mother,  moth 
er  !  Your  poor  little  girl  —  alone  —  alone  —  all 
alone ! 

She  tried  the  school-house  door  again  and  again, 
but,  alas!  the  boors  had  locked  it  after  them. 
Never  in  her  life  had  she  felt  such  bitter  and  re 
proachful  anger  against  any  human  being  as  now 
filled  her  breast  toward  those  men.  And  yet  it 
was  not  just.  They  could  not  conceive  of  such 
weakness  as  hers.  As  to  asking  her  to  go  home 
with  them  —  if  she  had  been  less  unlike  their 
kind  they  might  have  done  so,  might  have  put 
her  to  sleep  with  the  wife  while  the  father  turned 
in  with  the  snoring  boys.  To  the  dignity  of  a 
spare  room  none  of  those  prosperous  settlers  had 
yet  arrived.  (This  was  many  years  ago.) 

Anne   felt  her  way  along  the  ground   a  little 


102  ^ZURY. 

distance,  almost  on  her  hands  and  knees,  but  she 
found  herself  so  much  more  wretched  after  she 
lost  sight  of  the  school-house,  that  she  crawled 
back  to  it  again,  and  laid  her  cold  cheek  against 
the  door.  It  was  smooth ;  so  at  least  some  hu 
man  hand  must  once  have  touched  it.  She  tried 
to  whistle,  but  her  poor,  parched  whistle  would  n't 
whistle ;  or,  if  it  did,  it  was  so  faint  she  could  n't 
hear  it  through  the  ringing  in  her  ears. 

What  new  horror  is  that?  Her  hair  is  getting 
up  again,  —  she  did  not  know  it  had  lain  down. 
A  light,  by  itself,  moving  noiselessly,  mockingly, 
from  side  to  side,  and  coming  nearer  ;  a  ghost,  — 
a  corpse-light !  Black  Dread  has  found  her  at 
last,  and  is  coming  to  seize  her  in  his  claws ! 

"  0-h-h-h  !  "  and  she  uttered  a  shriek  which  might 
have  startled  the  echoes  and  the  dogs  again,  only 
that  it  was  confined  to  the  crack  of  the  school- 
house  door  by  her  two  bent  hands,  one  pressed 
against  each  side  of  her  eyes  and  temples,  while 
her  feet  beat  tattoo  on  the  stone  outside. 

"  Why  Miss  Sparrer !  Be  ye  scare't  ?  It 's  only 
old  Anstey.  I  started  aout  t'  meet  ye  on  the 
road,  but  I  could  n't  find  noth'n'  on  ye,  so  I  come 
'long  clean  h'yer  !  " 

For  the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life  that  old 
man  had  his  gnarled  hand  kissed  ! 

u  Oh,  I  came  so  near  being  frightened !  But 
you  came  at  last.  Oh,  take  me  somewhere !  " 

"  Wai,  I  'llaowed  t'  take  }^e  t'  our'us  ef  so  be  ye 
cM  put  up  with  poor  folks'  doin's  over-night.  I 
jest  went  hum  V  raouted  aout  th'  ole  woman  'n' 


A  BRAVE   GIRL  — THOUGH  A    COWARD.    108 

told  her  her  V  me  we  'd  take  a  shake-daown  up 
garret  so 's  ye  c'd  hev  a  night's  rest  —  ye  look  t' 
need  it  —  traveled  so  fur,  V  had  sech  bad  luck 
wi'  yer  'zam'nation  'n'  all !  " 

"  Oh-I  '11-sit-by-your-fire-all-night-and-not-trou- 
ble-you-at-all-and-not-let-you-give-up-your-bed-nor- 
your-wife-either-if-you  '11-only-take-me-out-of-this- 
—  wilderness!"  and  she  paused  for  breath,  and 
then  resumed  faintly,  but  more  deliberately, 
"  And  thank  you  as  long  as  I  live !  Oh  no,  don't 
take  away  your  hand !  Let  me  hold  it  while  we 
walk  —  there  —  so." 

"  Why  —  you  —  poor  —  creeter !  " 

So  he  led  her  gently  along,  happy,  almost  gay, 
in  her  revulsion  of  feeling,  and  half  inclined  to 
put  her  arms  around  his  corrugated  neck  and 
kiss  his  weather-beaten  and  toil-marked  old  face. 
The  moonlight  silvered  his  uncouth  outlines,  and 
he  looked,  in  her  eyes,  more  like  an  angel  than  he 
had  ever  looked  to  human  eyes  before  —  unless  to 
his  mother's  when  he  met  her  earliest  gaze —  or 
than  he  would  ever  look  again,  in  this  world. 

"  I  jest  sot  it  up  on  them  fellers  'baout  right. 
Tell  me!  I  dunno  much,  but  I  know 's  haow 
yew  know  a  heap.  Thet  thar  ornery  Omri  Brom- 
well,  he  dunno  enough  t'  know  haow  much  yew 
dew  know!  What  yew  dunno  ain't  wuth  a-know- 
in',  'n'  I  know  it !  Takes  a  blind  man  t'  see  some 
things !  " 

"  Oh,  I  knew  you  were  my  friend  all  through." 
(The  fib  was  unconscious,  but  even  if  it  had  been 
deliberate,  who  could  have  blamed  her  ?) 


104  ZURY. 

"  Sho  now !  Did  ye,  though  ?  Wai,  thar !  Ef 
I  ever  did  !  That  shows  's  haow  ye  're  quicker  'n 
a-mink-trap  'n'  sharper  'n  a  tack  !  Wai,  I  war  n't 
a-goin'  t'  let  them  fellers  come  no  snap  jedgment 
on  ye,  not  by  a  long  chalk  !  I  jest  broke  the  four- 
urn  a-purpose." 

"  Did  you  ?     Oh,  you  dear  man  !  " 

"  Did  I  ?  Wai,  you  better  b'lieve  I  did  !  Them 
t'  come  a  snap  jedgment  on  yew!  'N'  Zury 
Praouder  away  !  I  'termined  t'  break  that  four- 
urn  ef  it  cost  me  a  leg !  'N'  I  did  it,  tew  !  " 

And  the  old  man  swelled  with  pride  at  his 
prowess.  All  alone  he  had  broken  a  quorum ! 
Not  having  any  idea  what  a  quorum  was,  —  not 
even  its  name,  —  all  unaided  he  had  attacked  the 
mighty  chimera  and  shattered  it  at  a  blow. 

"  Yes  you  did,  indeed  !  No  man  in  the  world 
could  have  done  it  more  quickly  or  better  !  " 

"  Jest  let  'em  wait  ontel  Zury  Praouder  gits 
a-holt  on  'em  'n'  he  '11  fourum  'em  !  " 

"  Who  's  Zury  Prouder  ?  " 

"What!  dunno  Zury?  Wai,  come  t'  think, 
'course  ye  don't !  Oh  Zury,  he  's  a  hull  team  'n'  a 
hoss  t'  spare,  'n'  a  dawg  under  the  wagin  !  He  's 
lightnin',  Zury  is  !  Ain't  noth'n'  th'  matter  o' 
Zury.  Jest  let  him  git  a-holt  on  them  fellers 
wunst,  a-tryin'  t'  run  things  'n'  him  gone,  'n' 
they  '11  look  's  though  an  elephant  'd  tromped  onto 
'em  !  I  'd  druther  deal  with  Zury  Praouder,  near 
's  he  is,  then  a  hull  bilin'  o'  such  misable  ornery 
truck  's  Omri  Bromwell !  A  man  's  more  li'ble 
t'  cut  his  chin  with  a  dull  razor  ner  with  a  sharp 


A  BRAVE   GIRL  — THOUGH  A   COWARD.    105 

one.     If  ye  deal  with  Zury,  ye  know  whar  ye  be, 
but  dealin'  wi'  them,  whar  be  ye  ?  " 

Anne  was  unable  to  answer  this  conundrum, 
though  disposed  to  think  that,  dealing  with  such 
truck,  you  were  lost.  And  lightening  the  way 
with  such  amiable  conversation  (as  Bunyan  says) 
they  arrived  at  the  humble  abode  of  her  guide. 
There  were  a  few  embers  just  glowing  on  the 
hearth,  and  they  showed  by  their  fitful  light  an 
empty  bed  in  one  corner  of  the  only  room.  Two 
things  were  most  fortunate,  —  one  that  the  firelight 
was  too  dim  to  show  her  how  unattractive  were 
the  sleeping  accommodations  offered  her,  and  the 
other  that  the  light  of  knowledge  in  the  old  man's 
mind  was  too  dim  to  show  him  the  same  thing. 
He  thought,  innocent  old  soul,  that  that  was  "a 
pootty  fair  of  a  bed,"  as  he  would  have  expressed 
it.  And  so  he  bade  her  good-night,  and  clambered 
up  the  ladder  with  a  comfortable  glow  of  grati 
fied  pride  of  hospitality  in  his  heart,  and  Anne 
heard  him  and  his  "  old  woman  "  exchanging  a 
few  whispered  remarks  before  sinking  into  their 
speedy  slumbers.  Then  she,  too,  after  slipping  off 
her  shoes  and  loosening  a  few  garments,  lay  down 
to  watch  the  flickering  embers  which  sparkled 
between  her  and  solitude,  —  one  of  the  sweetest 
and  speediest  modes  of  saying  good-night  to  wake- 
fulness  and  good-morrow  to  dreamland. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ANNE  MEETS   THE  MEANEST   MAN. 

SUMMER  night  —  unless  fear  distort  the  vision 
—  is  beautiful,  but  summer  morning  in  malarial  re 
gions  (to  the  experienced  dweller)  is  positively  ugly. 
All  night  the  world  is  a  lovely,  half  veiled  Danae  ; 
with  break  of  day  she  becomes  a  squalid,  unkempt, 
disorderly  invalid.  A  blue,  unwholesome-looking 
haze  spreads  over  every  flat  space,  and  the  rays  of 
dawn  silver  its  surface  with  a  pale,  sickly  light. 
The  dew  which  is  refreshing  at  night-fall  is  dank 
at  daybreak.  Ague,  like  the  ghost  of  a  giant 
snake,  crawls  visible  over  the  land :  men  shudder 
at  the  sight,  and  their  flesh  creeps  at  its  very 
hideousness.  Only  the  tree-tops,  far  up  and  out 
of  reach,  glorying  in  the  early  rays,  are  truly 
happy  places ;  and  the  birds  know  it  and  make 
the  most  of  it  by  then  and  there  doing  up  most  of 
their  music,  their  laundry  work,  their  toilets,  and 
their  love-making  for  all  day. 

It  seemed  to  Anne  that  she  had  scarcely  got  to 
sleep  when  a  noise  woke  her  which  sounded  in 
her  dreams  like  the  rumbling  of  an  omnibus  over 
Charles  River  bridge,  but  which  was,  in  fact,  only 
the  passage  of  old  Anstey  across  the  warped  and 
"  teetering  "  boards  which  formed  the  floor  of  the 


ANNE  MEETS  THE  MEANEST  MAN.      107 

garret.  Then  by  the  gray  light  that  came  peer 
ing  and  peeping  in  through  various  imperfectly 
closed  apertures,  especially  the  low  wide  chimney 
open  to  the  sky,  she  saw  his  bare  feet  descend  the 
ladder,  followed  by  the  rest  of  his  person  some 
what  more  clothed,  but  not  much.  First  he  raked 
up  the  embers  into  a  blaze,  then  went  out  and 
got  a  pail  of  water,  from  which  he  filled  a  kettle, 
which  he  afterwards  hung  on  the  crane  to  boil. 
Then  he  looked  over  toward  Anne,  she  having  just 
time  to  close  her  eyes  in  pretended  slumber. 

People  of  Anstey's  class  have  not  the  smallest 
appreciation  of  the  delicate  coyness  of  sleep. 
They  think  that  the  only  things  needful  to  se 
cure  sound  slumber  are  two  :  first,  a  place  to  lie 
down  in,  and,  second,  leisure  in  the  intervals  of 
labor.  Sleep  they  regard  as  at  best  a  necessary 
evil,  and  even  down  to  this  age  of  the  world  they 
think  that  early  rising  is  a  virtue  !  Annoyance 
at  being  roused  would  be  inconceivable  to  old 
Anstey,  unless  uprising  and  working  were  the 
purpose  of  the  awakening.  So  when  he  saw,  or 
thought  he  saw,  that  Anne  was  fast  asleep,  he 
simply  called  out :  — 

"  O-H-H-H  Miss  Sparrer  !  " 

"  Well,  Mr.  Anstey  ?  " 

"  I  'in  a-goin'  aout  t'  milk  naow,  'n'  I  thort  I  'd 
tell  ye  th'  ain't  no  call  fer  ye  t'  git  up  fer  a  spell 
yet.  Th'  ole  woman  she  '11  be  daown  'n'  git  some 
breakf's' ;  'n'  ye  kin  jest  sleep  's  long  ye  wan- 
ter." 

"  Thank  you." 


108  ZURY. 

So  Anne  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  with  the 
intention  of  renewing  the  effort  to  restore  ex 
hausted  nature.  But  what  is  this  —  this  horrible 
bag  of  rustling  corn-husks  her  head  is  resting  on? 
These  unspeakable  "  comforts  "  that  are  trying  to 
do  duty  as  sheet,  blanket,  and  counterpane  com 
bined  !  This  rudely  lumpy  surface  whereon  they 
are  spread !  Those  closely  adjacent  logs  which 
she  knows  must  be  swarming  with  insects  !  Is  it 
imagination,  or  is  she  herself  already  infested  ? 
Ugh  !  She  springs  from  the  bed  as  from  a  vi 
per's  nest,  and  stands  on  the  floor,  hastily  exam 
ines  her  shoes  and  puts  them  on  and  goes  out  into 
the  air,  where  she  is  confronted  with  the  ugly 
morning  picture  before  mentioned,  —  disheveled 
Nature  before  she  has  her  face  washed,  her  hair 
combed,  or  her  shoes  and  stockings  on. 

Near  by  stands  a  rude  bench,  made  by  thrust 
ing  four  saplings  through  holes  bored  in  a  slab 
of  wood,  and  on  the  bench  sits  an  iron  skillet, 
which,  by  the  piece  of  soap  near  at  hand  and 
certain  other  indications,  she  knows  to  be  the 
family  lavatory.  The  skillet  she  fills  at  the  well, 
and  then  making  her  simple  toilet  (aided  by  a 
very  small  allowance  of  pocket-handkerchief  and 
a  great  deal  of  fresh  air),  she  feels  like  a  new 
woman.  She  even  ventures  on  a  short  walk  in 
the  weedy  garden-patch,  but  the  dew  makes  this 
a  disagreeable  experience  and  she  soon  gets  back 
to  the  house. 

Anne  thought  she  knew  all  about  poverty. 
She  had  certainly  seen  it  in  her  factory-town, 


ANNE  MEETS   THE  MEANEST  MAN.      109 

clear  down  to  the  very  door  of  the  poor-house. 
But  the  poor-house  folk  themselves  did  not  live 
like  this :  they  would  not  have  put  up  with  it. 
And  those  naturalistic  enthusiasts  —  how  sublime 
ly  they  talk  about  the  charms  of  Nature !  How 
sacred  Nature's  mysteries  !  How  much  more  you 
adored  her  the  nearer  you  got  to  her  !  How  in 
alienable  the  rights  of  all  her  creatures,  even  the 
humblest  and  least  attractive  !  Ugh  !  Did  they 
know  about  bugs?  Are  malodorous  parasites 
Nature's  creatures  with  inalienable  rights  ?  Stuff  ! 
Mankind  has  been  for  twenty  thousand  years  im 
proving  upon  Nature,  subduing  her  forces  and 
killing  her  bugs  —  now  the  idea  of  going  back  ! 

So  musing,  she  came  back  to  the  house-door, 
where  the  sound  and  smell  of  frying  meat  saluted 
her.  There  she  met  Mrs.  Anstey  for  the  first 
>time.  It  is  well  that  our  story  does  not  demand 
that  she  should  be  described,  for  she  was  really  al 
most  "  unspeakable,"  with  her  bare  head  and  feet, 
and  her  whole  system  ruined  with  the  ceaseless 
drug-taking  which  prevailed  at  that  day,  so  much 
more,  even,  than  at  this.  The  children  were  not 
quite  so  bad,  because,  being  ungoverned  whelps, 
they  had  rebelled,  often  with  success,  against  the 
ever-recurring  Christian  duty  to  take  medicine. 

"  Howdy  inarm  !  Yer  a-lookin'  peart.  H'yer 
you  cubs !  Hike  out  o'  h'yer  fr'm  raound  that 
thar  fire !  Ain't  ye  got  no  manners  ?  Bijah, 
why  ain't  ye  aout  a-helpin'  yer  father  do  the 
chores?  You  Silas!  git  daown  often  that  stule 
V  give  the  lady  a  chance  t'  set.  Hike  naow  er 
I  '11  make  ye  !  Go  read  yer  book !  " 


110  ZURY. 

But  Silas,  knowing  that  this  last  infliction  was 
the  penalty  reserved  for  the  gravest  offenses,  none 
of  which  had  he  yet  committed  that  morning, 
merely  gave  up  the  stool  and  lounged  over  to  the 
other  side  of  the  fire,  whence  he  could  stare  at 
Anne  continuously. 

"  You  Eureky  !  Why  don't  ye  turn  that  bread  ? 
Hain't  ye  got  no  eyes  ?  " 

This  was  obviously  unjust,  for  Eureka,  a  tall 
girl,  almost  a  woman,  was  just  then  to  all  appear 
ance  entirely  composed  of  eyes  glued  upon  the 
visitor.  If  she  had  possessed  any  other  organ  of 
sense  —  a  nose,  for  instance  —  it  would  have  in 
formed  her  that  the  "  sody  "  biscuits  were  burn 
ing  on  one  side. 

"  You  Silas  !  Mind  naow  ye  don't  git  t'  git  no 
breakfV  not  ontel  ye  've  washed  up  !  Elviry  yew 
stop  yer  whimperin' !  Shell  I  hev  t'  git  after  ye 
with  a  chunk  ?  Go  read  yer  book  !  " 

Now  came  Anstey  with  the  milk,  the  straining 
whereof  Anne  did  not  see,  which  was  fortunate 
for  her  breakfast  appetite.  She  would  have  pre 
ferred  that  the  milk  should  remain  like  u  the 
quality  of  mercy "  in  Portia's  speech.  Break 
fast  was  soon  set  —  dumped  rather  —  upon  the 
table  ;  where  some  "set  by"  on  the  old  man's  in 
vitation,  and  some  only  helped  themselves  and 
haled  away  their  respective  portions  to  individual 
feeding-places.  It  was  all  rather  dreadful  even 
to  Anne's  unpampered  taste,  and  she  could  not 
do  much  in  the  way  of  partaking. 

"  No  meat  ?    Why,  I  'm  a-f eared  ye  won't  make 


ANNE  MEETS  THE  MEANEST  MAN.   Ill 

nothin'  of  a  meal !  Jest  tea  V  bread  V  milk  don't 
go  fur.  Ain't  ye  got  nothin'  else,  ole  woman  — 
store  fixin's  o'  no  kind?  " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  doing  finely  !  I  have  been  quite  out 
of  the  habit  of  eating  meat  at  breakfast,  and 
bread  and  milk  are  my  favorite  substitute." 

This  was  true  enough  regarding  meat,  espe 
cially  during  her  mother's  illness,  when  they  could 
scarcely  afford  it. 

"  Wai,  ef  I  'd  a  thought,  I  c'd  a  give  her  some 
o'  the  drops  o'  'lixir  vity  to  a  give  her  an  appe 
tite." 

"  That 's  so  !  My  o'  woman  she  's  paowerfle  on 
docterin'.  Ye  kin  tie  t'  her  every  time  !  " 

This  was  said  with  undisguised  admiration  and 
marital  pride. 

"  'Course  we  got  eggs  —  ef  ye  like  eggs." 

Anne  at  once  expressed  devoted  fondness  for 
eggs. 

44  You  Reeky  !  G'  out  'n'  git  s'm  eggs  ;  V 
mind  ye  don't  disturb  the  settin'  hens." 

When  Eureka  returned  with  the  eggs,  Anne 
observed  preparations  for  frying  them  in  the  meat 
gravy.  She  ventured  the  suggestion  that  they 
should  be  boiled. 

"  Biled  eggs  ?  Ye  don't  say !  Wai,  we  don't 
think  biled  eggs  fit  fer  shucks,  on'y  fer  the  chiU'n 
t?  take  t'  scule.  Hows'ever.  —  Eureky,  you  fetch 
in  that  skillet.  Mind  ye  wash  it  aout,  tew." 

Eggs  boiled  in  the  wash-basin  rather  staggered 
poor  Anne,  but  so  long  as  the  shells  were  not 
cracked  what  difference  could  it  make  ?  The  eggs 


112  ZURY. 

were  put  in,  and  boiled  some  ten  or  fifteen  min 
utes.  Then  when  the  water  was  poured  off  and  the 
skillet  set  on  the  table,  she  (not  without  many 
misgivings)  wiped  each  very  dry,  and  peeled  off 
the  shell  very  carefully,  and  so  secured  a  shiny 
ball  of  nourishing  food  pure  as  a  snow-flake,  which 
she  munched  with  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction. 

The  old  woman  of  course  could  not  drop  the 
fascinating  subject  of  medicine  yet  a  while. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  ain't  no  great  shakes  compared  to 
yer  way-up  city  doctors.  Tell  yew  !  Can't  they 
give  physic  ?  No  matter  what  yer  complaint  is 
they  've  got  suthV  other  't  '11  knock  it !  'N'  that 
's  more  'n  what  the  best  of  our  country  doctors 
kin  say ! " 

u  'Course  that 's  so,"  volunteered  old  Anstey. 
"  Them  big  city  doctors  they  don't  'llaow  t'  come 
away  aout  h'yer  !  I  've  heern  tell  haow  they  hev 
their  reg'lar  'zaminations  o'  candidates,  same  's  if 
it  wuz  preachers  'n'  school-teachers  :  'n'  them  's 
kin  tell  what  '11  knock  all  complaints,  they  sta 
tion  in  the  big  cities  ;  'n'  them  's  kin  tell  what  '11 
knock  half,  say,  why  they  send  them  t'  mejum- 
sized  places,  like  say  Springville  or  Danfield  ;  'n' 
them  's  can't  tell  what  '11  knock  hardly  anythin' 
'ceptin'  agur,  'n'  fits,  'n'  roomatiz  'n'  sech  like,  why 
the'  send  sech  's  them  t'  Wayback  'n'  sech  like." 

"  'Course  that 's  so  !  Tell  me  !  Don't  I  know 
it?  'N'  that's  the  reason  why  we  country  ladies 
we  don't  have  no  health  !  Its  teetotally  and  in- 
tirely  the  doctors,  altogether !  'N'  partly  the 
quality  o'  the  physic  th'  sell  h'yer,  tew.  Many  's 


ANNE  MEETS   THE  MEANEST  MAN.      113 

the  time  I  've  bought  what  was  cracked  up  to  be 
good  strong  med'cine  t'  Wayback  ;  yes  V  paid  a 
good  price  fer  it,  tew,  'n'  it  did  n't  seem  t'  take 
no  holt." 

"  I  Ve  often  wondered  why  them  big  town  doc- 
ters  don't  put  up  a  mixter  of  all  ther  strong  med- 
'cines,  'n'  put  in  what 's  good  fer  everythin'  — 
not  leave  aout  a  single  complaint  —  'n'  send  itaout 
inter  the  kedntry  ter  save  the  lives  of  their  feller- 
creeters.  It  'd  have  a  big  sale,  I  tell  ye !  " 

"  Wai,  naow,  ther  wuz  a  man  he  come  by  with 
suth'n'  o'  thet  kind  —  a  pannersee  he  called  it  — 
thet  'd  cure  every  mortial  thing.  An'  he  had 
another  med'cine  thet  was  cracked  up  t'  be  paow- 
erfle  good  fer  fits.  Wai,  I  bought  some  o'  both. 
To  be  sure  we  ain't  had  no  fits  yet,  but  then,  ther 
ain't  no  tellin'  haow  soon  we  may.  Then  it  kind 
o'  struck  me  thet  ef  the  pannersee  would  cure  fits 
among  the  rest,  what  wuz  the  fit-med'cine  good 
fer  :  so  I  as't  him  in  case  o'  fits  which  I  sh  'd  give ; 
'n'  he  kinder  laughed  as  he  rid  off,  'n'  sung  aout 
'both.'  I  tuk  the  pannersee  'cordin'  t'  directions, 
but "  (here  she  sighed)  "  I  never  see  's  it  done 
me  much  good."  (This  with  an  air  of  resigned 
melancholy  at  the  well-recognized  fact  that  her 
case  formed  an  exception  to  the  general  experience 
of  humanity.)  "  The  fit-med'cine  I  guess  I  got 
sumwhers  naow.  I  '11  gladly  give  ye  a  dose  Miss 
Sparrer  ef  ye  feel  any  ways  poorly." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  but  I  am  quite  well. 
I  'm  almost  always  perfectly  well." 

"  Wai,  naow,  ye  ra'ly  look  it.  Oilers  lived  in  a 
city,  I  s'pose." 


114  ZURY. 

"  Yes,  almost  always." 

44  Ah  yah  !  There  Ts  whar  it  is  !  Wha'  d'  I 
tell  ye  ?  Ye  lied  them  big  city  docters  oilers  clust 
by.  'N'  the  most  paowerfle  med'cines,  no  mat 
ter  whut  the'  cost,  nuther." 

44  I  don't  remember  ever  to  have  had  a  doctor  in 
my  life  —  to  any  sickness  of  my  own." 

"  What !  Doctered  yerself  'n'  bought  yer  own 
med'cines?" 

44  No,  did  n't  need  any  medicines,  and  did  n't 
take  any." 

"  Haow  ?  never  sick  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  often  ailing  just  a  little." 

44  Then  haow  did  ye  knock  the  diseases  ?  " 

"  Just  let  them  alone,  and  they  went  away  of 
themselves." 

"  What !  "  in  chorus. 

4'  Yes.  I  never  had  much  faith  in  doctors  or 
doctor-stuff." 

"  Wai  !     I  swaow  t'  man  !  " 

"  Wai,  I  know  't  if  I  hed  n't  a  had  things  t' 
a-took  in  time,  at  the  beginnin',  we  'd  a  all  a  be'n 
dead  long  ago.  Thar's  nothin' like  meetin'  a  dis 
ease  in  time." 

"  I  always  found  that  letting  it  alone  in  time 
\vas  better." 

Here  occurred  an  explosion  of  chuckles  from 
Bijah's  bench. 

"  Yew  h'yer  me  ?  That  settles  it !  No  more 
physic  fer  me  !  " 

44  Me,  too  !  "  from  Silas. 

"  Silas  Anstey,  you  shet  up  !     Go  read  yer  book  ! 


ANNE  MEETS   THE  MEANEST  MAN,      115 

As  fer  you,  Bijah,  yew  've  got  cause  t'  be  thank- 
fle  that  ye  've  got  payrents  thet  's  able  t'  buy  yer 
needfle  med'cines,  'n'  knows  haow  t'  pr'scribe  fer 
ye,  — yes  'n'  make  ye  take  it  tew,  big's  ye  be  !  " 

"Not  much !  "  says  Bijah,  and  slides  out  of  the 
door,  followed  by  Silas. 

The  family  now  scattered  to  their  several  avoca 
tions  :  Eureka  and  her  mother  "  doing  up  "  the 
breakfast  things  in  less  than  five  minutes.  Then 
Mrs.  Anstey  seated  herself  beside  the  fire-place 
with  her  knitting  and  a  short  pipe  which  she 
lighted  with  a  coal  held  (greatly  to  Anne's  aston 
ishment)  in  her  toil-hardened  fingers. 

"I  don't  expect  ladies  smoke  whar  yew  come 
from." 

44  Well,  I  never  knew  of  their  doing  so." 

44  No.  Like  's  not  if  I  wuz  fixed  same  's  they 
be  I  'd  be  full 's  praoud  's  th'  best  on  'em.  It 's  all 
owin'  t'  haow  ye  're  fixed.  We  ladies  aout  h'yer 
in  th'  woods  don't  give  a  cent  fer  looks.  My  old 
dad  use  ter  say  4blessin's  on  th'  man  't  invented 
eatin',  'coz  ye  kin  smoke  arter  it.'  He  wuz  a  reg'- 
lar  old  he-one  fer  terbacker." 

44 1  should  think  so  !  " 

To  give  herself  light,  she  pulled  the  plug  out  of 
the  44  knitting  hole,"  which  let  a  tiny  ray  fall 
directly  on  her  busy  needles.  Seeing  Anne  look 
at  the  arrangement  with  interest  she  explained  its 
convenience. 

44  He  fixed  this  string  t'  hang  th'  plug  up  by, 
'coz  the  chil'n  wuz  oilers  a-burnin'  on  it  up :  'n' 
he  made  it  long,  ye  see,  so  's  I  c'd  poke  aout  th' 


116  ZURY. 

snow  in  winter  V  not  have  t'  spend  my  breath 
a-blowin'  on  it  aout,  ner  yit  wade  aoutside  t'  clar  it 
away.  But,  then,  sometimes  it  drifts  V  banks 
up  right  smart  higher  than  the  hoel :  'n'  besides, 
when  it 's  stormy  it  blows  in  so  I  can't  stan'  it,  V 
I  jest  hev  t'  put  in  th'  plug  n'  light  a  candle." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  run  the  risk  of 
rheumatism." 

"Wai,  yes,  that  shoulder  is  oilers  th'  wust. 
Th'  docters  sez  ye  kin  tell  which  side  o'  th'  chim- 
ley  th'  knittin'-hoel  is  by  seem'  which  o'  the  lady's 
arms  is  th'  stiffest." 

Eureka,  emboldened  by  time  and  by  a  little 
encouragement  from  Anne,  grew  to  be  a  trifle 
less  shy,  and  studied  with  wondering  admiration 
her  simple  traveling  outfit, —  the  first  city-made 
costume  she  had  ever  had  the  happiness  to  feast 
her  wild  eyes  upon.  She  did  not  examine  it  for 
the  sake  of  learning  how  to  dress  herself,  but 
more  in  the  spirit  with  which  a  Sioux  Indian 
might  observe  a  photographic  apparatus,  —  "  Big 
Medicine!"  So  wonderfully  perfect  in  all  ap 
pointments  ;  so  exquisitely  neat  in  fabric,  device, 
and  construction  ;  so  beautiful  in  results  !  Sim 
ple  girl !  But  perhaps  she  will  attain,  before  we 
lose  sight  of  her,  to  something  more  comparable 
to  this  ladylike-ness  than  she  now  thinks  possi 
ble.  We  shall  see. 

Anne  had  early  learned  that  it  is  not  polite  to 
"  eat  and  run ;  like  the  beggars."  So  she  de 
voted  herself  to  the  old  woman  for  an  hour  or 
more :  furnished  her  a  listener ;  precious  gift  to 
the  loquacious  and  lonely  ! 


ANNE  MEETS  THE  MEANEST  MAN.   117 

The  talk  turned  quite  naturally  to  Mr.  Prouder. 

"  Zury  he  's  wal  fixed.  His  dad  come  aout  a 
year  ahead  of  my  o'  man  V  located  a  section 
same  as  he  did.  'N'  no  man  V  woman  never 
worked  no  harder  ner  we  did.  But  then  —  we 
did  n't  hev  no  Zury ;  V  Ephr'm  Praouder,  he 
did  n't  have  no  babes  a-comin'  right  along  as  we 
did.  We 've  buried  three.  Many 's  the  day  I've 
tromped  barefooted,  droppin'  V  kiverin'  corn, 
long  arter  I  'd  oughter  ben  layin'  up,  V  sewin' 
V  gittin  ready."  And  she  showed  her  mis 
shapen  hands  and  feet  in  needless  confirmation  of 
her  words.  Anne,  trying  to  get  at  more  agree 
able  themes,  ventured  :  — 

"  Why,  there  must  have  been  Indians  here  when 
you  came." 

"Injins?  Oh  yes,  th'  wuz  some  aout  on  the 
Vermilion.'' 

"Hostile  Indians?" 

"  Hoss  -  tile  ?  Wal,  no  ;  they  was  all  a-foot 
then.  The  'd  sold  their  ponies  fer  whiskey,  mostly. 
All  on  'em  did  arter  the  Black  Hawk  War.  But 
the'  never  troubled  us  none.  The  rale  trouble 
with  us  wuz  't  we  could  n't  git  ahead  fur  enough 
t'  git  no  stawk  onter  the  place  t'  eat  up  th'  crap. 
It  were  oilers  morgidged  a-fore  it  wuz  gethered  ; 
V  then  it  hed  t'  be  sold  in  th'  shock  'er  in  th' 
ear,  instead  o'  feedin'  on  it  'n'  sellin'  the  pork." 

"  The  hog  is  a  pretty  respectable  animal,  after 
all,  is  n't  he?" 

"  Yew  better  b'lieve  it !  Breeds  like  a  house 
fly  'n'  grows  like  a  punkin  !  Takes  care  of  him- 


118  ZURY. 

self  s'  long  's  the'  's  an  acorn,  er  a  snake,  er  a  nub 
bin  he  kin  git  at ;  in  th'  woods,  in  th'  cornfield, 
in  th'  barn,  in  th' garding  —  it's  all  one  t' him 
s'  long  's  he  kin  find  a  hole  in  the  fence  big  enough 
t'  git  th'  little  end  of  his  snaout  intevv  —  th'  rest 
on  him  follers,  soon  er  late." 

"  I  Ve  read  somewhere  that  without  the  hog 
navies  could  not  be  kept  afloat,  nor  armies  in  the 
field." 

"  Wai,  I  s'pose  it 's  so,  ef  it 's  in  print.  Any- 
haow,  yew  kin  tell  'em  fr'm  me,  th't  th'  kedntry 
couldn't  be  settled  not  a  half,  no  ner  a  quarter 
's  fast  ef  the'  worn't  no  hawgs.  The'  eats  every- 
thiu',  'n'  everythin'  the'  eats  turns  right  inter 
clear  meat.  'N'  when  ye  kill  'em  th'  ain't  no 
waste  t'  speak  of  —  it 's  all  thar,  fr'm  the  nose  t' 
the  tail,  sound  's  a  fresh-lakl  egg  ! " 

"Yes,  the  same  book. \ was  speaking  of  before 
says  there  is  nothing  that  flies  the  air  or  swims 
the  sea  or  walks  the  earth  that  gives  so  much  to 
use  and  so  little  to  waste." 

"  Dew  the'  say  thet  naow  ?  Wai,  I  give  in, 
the'  dew  know  a  leetle  suth'n'  even  in  the  big 
cities  whar  th'  books  is  made  up !  " 

"  I  should  think  beef  would  be  better.  You 
can  work  the  poor  ox  all  his  life  and  eat  him  when 
he's  dead." 

"  Ah  yah !  Cattle 's  tew  slow  fer  Western 
farmers  t'  work.  Beef  ain't  nowher's  alongside 
o'  pork.  A  caow  don't  usially  have  but  one  calf 
a  year ;  'n'  it  takes  the  calf  four  years  t'  come  t' 
anythin' ;  'n'  every  year  it  costs  more  t'  keep  ner 


AWE   MEETS    THE     MEANEST  MAN.        119 

it  dooz  t'  keep  a  hawg  all  his  life.  Th'  saow  she 
hez  tew  er  three  litters  a  year,  'n'  lots  o'  pigs 
every  time ;  'n'  in  tew  years  th'  pigs  is  all  hawgs 
ready  t'  kill.  Tell  me !  I  jest  love  t'  see  'em 
'raound !  Th'  squeal  of  a  hawg  's  the  sweetest 
music  th't  kin  be  fer  a  farmer's  ears  !  " 

"  But  there  's  the  milk  and  butter." 

"  Oh  ya-as.  Beef 's  th'  rich  man's  luxury,  'n' 
pork 's  the  poor  man's  needcessity.  When  we 
can't  git  butter  we  kin  eat  lard,  'n'  when  we  can't 
git  milk  we  kin  drink  water ;  but  when  we  can't 
git  pork  we  must  jes'  starve  tew  death." 

"  Did  the  Prouders  raise  swine  ?  " 

"  Wai,  old  Ephr'm  he  wuz  lucky  enough  t'  git 
a-holt  on  s'm  hawgs  fust  thing,  'n'  stick  tew  'em 
like  grim  death  tew  a  dead  nigger." 

"  Why  could  n't  you  do  so  too  ?  " 

"Wai,  ye  see  —  we  didn't  hev  no  Zury,  ner 
no  luck.  N'  matter  haow  hard  we  'd  try  t'  win 
ter  over  a  few,  the'  wuz  sure  t'  be  all  eat  up,  er 
sold  off,  er  dead  a-fore  spring  come.  Wunst  we 
did  hev  a-seemin'  good  show  fer  doin'  it  —  it 
wuz  jest  arter  we  morgidged  aour  sec'n'  quarter- 
section.  We  hed  sixteen  likely  hawgs  'n'  shoats, 
'n'  a  poor,  mis'able,  —  wal,  pootty  good  straw-stack 
t'  shelter  'em.  It  saounded  jest  good  t'  hear  'em 
squeal,  a-craowdin'  one  another  alongside  th'  straw 
t'  keep  warm  !  Th'  o'  man  he  'd  wake  up  in  the 
night  'n'  larf,  'n'  say  'the'mometer  must  be  daown 
below  Nero  !  Hear  'em  a-pullin'  kiver  ?  '  Ye  see 
he  meant  the'  wuz  like  childern  a-quar'lin'  fer 
the  bed-clo's.  Wal,  one  orfle  night  the'  crawled 


120  ZURY. 

tew  fur  under,  'n'  the  wind  it  jest  blowed  'n' 
canted  th'  hull  stack  right  over  ontew  'em  ;  'n' 
come  morniri'  th'  wuz  all  dead  —  th'  snow  spread 
smooth  'n'  white  over  'em  all  —  layin'  thar  smoth 
ered  under  th'  straw  'n'  snow  !  "  What  a  spasm 
of  pain,  distress,  disappointment,  despair,  wrin 
kled  that  old  face  at  the  recollection  of  this  cruel 
blow ! 

44  Oh,  Mrs.  Anstey !  I  could  cry  to  think  of 
it!" 

44  Could  ye,  naow  ?  Ye  're  a  sweet-hearted  gal ! 
Wai,  if  cryin'  tears  o'  heart's  blood  c'd  a-brought 
'em  t'  life  agin,  I  'd  a  shed  'em  when  I  went  aout 
'n'  looked  at  'em,  all  a-layin'  stiff  'n'  dead  in  rows 
'n'  heaps  !  Not  one  left  —  'n'  th'  morgidge  a-com- 
in'  due !  That  quarter  wuz  sold,  'n'  Zury  he  bid 
it  in." 

44 1  hate  him  !  " 

44  O  ye  hain't  an}r  cause  t'  hate  him  fer  a-biddin' 
on  it  in.  Somebody  hed  t'  hev  it.  We  lost  tew 
more,  under  morgidges ;  'n'  th'  one  we  've  got 
left  is  morgidged  —  he  hoi's  th'  morgidge  —  'n'  it 
jest  keeps  aour  noses  t'  the  grin'-stone  t'  keep 
a-holt  on  it  'n'  pay  interest.  So  fur  we  've  done  it 
—  I  dunno  haow  long  we  kin  keep  it  up.  When 
we  can't,  then  we  Ve  got  t'  turn  renters,  like  many 
is  —  'n'  rentin'  a  farm  is  nex'  door  t'  th'  poor- 
haouse !  " 

44  Oh,  well  —  your  boys  are  coming  along  —  and 
Mr.  Anstey  is  a  good  man  I  'm  sure  ;  you  '11  come 
out  all  right," 

44  Oh,  yes  ;  my  o'  man  he 's  all  right.     He  ain't 


ANNE  MEETS  THE  MEANEST  MAN.   121 

s'  smart  's  most ;  V  th'  ain't  none  s'  smart  's 
Zury  ;  but  yit  I  dunno  's  I  'd  care  t'  swap." 

She  did  well  to  stand  up  for  Anstey.  He  was 
a  good  man  and  a  good  citizen,  and  a  pillar  of 
the  church.  He  always  put  on  shoes  to  go  to 
meeting,  even  in  summer  (stockings,  of  course, 
were  not  required),  and  as  one  shoe  squeaked  and 
the  other  did  not,  his  march  up  the  bare  aisle  was 
quite  impressive.  "  Squeak  —  clump  —  squeak  — 
clump"  they  went,  all  the  way  from  the  door  to 
the  "  amen  corner,"  where  his  devoutness  gave 
him  a  place. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Anstey,  it  is  growing  late,  and  I 
must  get  to  the  tavern  at  Wayback  in  time  for 
dinner.  I  am  wonderfully  thankful  to  you  for 
your  kindness ! " 

"Yew?  Beholden  tew  us ?  Nary  a  mite!  I 
guess  ye  dunno,  chile,  what  a  blessin'  it  is  t'  see 
sech  a  face  's  yourn,  V  talk  with  sech  a  gal 's  yew 
be,  aout  in  this  neck  o'  woods!  I'm  only  scare't 
fer  fear  we  can't  git  t'  keep  ye  !  Ef  so  be  ye  dew 
stop  'raound  these  parts  ye  wun't  ferget  t'  come 
'n'  see  th'  Ansteys,  naow,  will  ye  ?  " 

"  Aha,  my  dear  friend  —  if  you  knew  me  you 
would  n't  have  any  doubt  about  my  remembering 
you  and  getting  just  as  well  acquainted  as  you'll 
allow." 

"  Wai,  I  '11  wait  'n'  see  if  ye  keep  yer  word. 
God  bless  'n'  care  fer  ye !  " 

It  would  have  amused  and  pleased  poor  Anne 
to  hear  (if  she  could  have  understood  them)  the 
comments  on  her  when  next  the  Ansteys  met 
about  the  social  (?)  board. 


122  ZURY. 

"  Ki !     She  's  right  on  it,  ain't  she  !  " 

"  Ya-as.  She  ain't  no  slaouch,  back  part  o'  th' 
spellin'-book  er  not." 

"  Talk  aboaut  splay-feet,  knock-knees,  caow- 
hocks,  'n'  parrot-toes  —  did  ye  see  her  step  aout 
daown  th'  road?  She  didn'  seem  hardly  t'  tech 
her  feet  t'  the  graoun' !  "  (Anne's  experience  be 
hind  the  cotton-frames  had  made  her  a  perfect 
Atalanta.) 

"  Gimme  a  brick-top,  arter  this."  (This  was 
young  Silas'  tribute  to  her  charms.) 

"  Tell  ye  one  thing  —  I  'm  a-goin'  t'  see  Zury, 
'n'  put  him  up  t'  a  thing  er  tew  !  Them  ornery 
whelps,  Bromwell  '11'  all!  Deestrick  Number 
Seven  ain't  a-goin'  t'  lose  sech  a  gal 's  that,  not  if  I 
have  my  say-so." 

Anne  set  off  in  fine  spirits.  Her  walk  was  com 
paratively  happy.  Sometimes  she  whistled  gayly 
and  sweetly,  rinding  that  the  tones  she  tried  for  in 
vain  last  night  when  they  might  have  done  some 
good  were  again  at  her  service  now  when  she 
needed  them  less  —  like  the  flattering  accents  of 
fair-weather  friends.  Every  little  while  she  would 
take  out  the  dingy  spelling-book  and  learn  by 
heart  a  question  and  answer,  and  say  it  over  aloud 
as  she  walked  along. 

Often  she  laughed  at  herself  for  her  last  even 
ing's  darkness-panic,  and  as  often  she  resolved 
never  to  be  so  foolish  again  —  and  then  remem 
bered  that  her  life  had  been  dotted  with  just  such 
panics,  and  just  such  recoveries,  each  followed  by 
just  such  resolutions.  In  vain  she  told  herself 


ANNE  MEETS  THE  MEANEST  MAN.     123 

that  she  ought  to  be  the  same  woman  in  the  dark 
as  in  the  light.  She  was  the  same  —  it  was  the 
rest  of  creation  that  was  unstable,  and  changed 
its  character  every  night  from  natural  to  unnat 
ural  and  supernatural  —  and  horrible  ! 

In  the  confusion  of  the  previous  night  she  had 
forgotten  to  wind  her  watch,  so  she  did  not  know 
how  time  was  passing.  Fearing  to  lose  that  civ 
ilized  (or  at  least  half-civilized)  noon  dinner,  she 
quickened  her  steps,  and  soon  came  in  sight  of 
"  Wayback,"  now  a  cluster  of  houses  surrounding 
the  gristmill  and  sawmill  on  the  river-bank.  The 
few  buildings  were  new,  middle-aged,  and  old,  as 
indicated  by  the  various  degrees  of  fading  which 
they  had  undergone  —  green  lumber,  seasoned 
lumber,  and  gray,  weather-beaten  boards  reduced 
almost  to  the  color  of  the  air  that  has  dessicated 
them.  They  glared  under  the  pitiless  sunshine, 
asking  in  vain  for  the  shadows  of  trees  which  had 
been  on  the  ground  before  any  houses  intruded, 
but  which  had  been  unwisely  sacrificed,  leav 
ing  only  ugly  stumps  to  show  where  they  had 
stood. 

The  tavern  was  a  two-storied  frame  structure  of 
more  exterior  promise  than  interior  excellence. 
It  had  a  long  broad  piazza  garnished  with  several 
massive  chairs,  made  large  enough  in  the  frame 
to  stand  a  great  deal  of  whittling,  but  yet  not  large 
enough  to  escape  being  whittled  down  to  emaci 
ation  in  all  their  available  limbs.  It  was  kept  by 
one  Peleg  Thum,  its  builder,  who,  not  having 
enough  money  to  finish  and  furnish  it,  had  been 


124  ZURY. 

forced  to  borrow.  Zury  was  the  lender :  and 
thenceforth,  as  Tom  Lackner,  the  storekeeper,  said, 
"  The  difference  between  Peleg  Thum  and  Zury 
Provider's  thumb  was  that  Zury's  thumb  was  on 
top." 

When  Anne  reached  the  tavern  she  entered 
the  public  room  (office,  post-office,  etc.)  of  the 
hotel,  glanced  up  at  the  clock,  and  saw  that  it 
pointed  to  —  half-past  ten  !  Of  course  it  must 
have  stopped  in  the  night.  She  passed  into  the 
darkened  dining-room — no  signs  of  dinner  — 
could  she  be  too  late  to  get  anything  ?  She  pen 
etrated  further  (startling  a  myriad  of  flies  which 
broke  the  silence  of  the  room  with  ahum  like  that 
of  a  bee-hive  in  swarming  time),  and  at  last  found 
her  friend  McVey  —  clerk-steward-porter-man-of- 
all-work,  who  glanced  at  the  sun  and  said  he 
guessed  the  clock  was  about  right.  "  A  leetle 
fahst  if  anything." 

So  it  was.  A  farmer's  day,  beginning  long  be 
fore  "  sun-up,"  seems  to  the  unaccustomed  urban 
to  be  half  done  when  it  is  only  fairly  begun.  It 
takes  time  for  a  person  accustomed  to  "civilized 
hours  "  to  realize  that  five  hours  added  to  four 
A.  M.  brings  nine  A.  M.  just  as  surely  as  the  same 
space  added  to  eight  A.  M.  brings  one  P.  M. 

John  Endicott  McVey  was  a  real  New  Eng- 
lander,  but  scarcely  a  typical  one :  lie  was  too 
slender  in  body  and  mind  —  too  soft  in  head  and 
heart.  He  had  "  seen  better  days  "  even  at  that 
early  age.  If  he  had  gone  on  seeing  them,  through 
the  medium  of  an  inherited  fortune  or  even  a  good 


ANNE  MEETS  THE  MEANEST  MAN.     125 

salaried  position  in  Boston,  he  would  have  passed 
a  highly  creditable  life,  —  perhaps  (if  the  fortune 
had  been  a  large  one)  have  had  children  named 
for  him,  or  even  a  street  in  a  suburb  !  But  a 
palm  is  out  of  place  in  a  prairie.  John's  hand 
some  face  and  tall,  fine  figure  fitted  him  to  lead 
the  ge.rman,  but  not  to  lead  boorish  Americans. 

"  Will  you  sit  down,  Miss  Sparrow  ?  Well,  how 
in  the  nation  did  you  pass  last  evening  ?  "  (He 
said  ."  Well "  in  two  syllables  —  "  Way-ell  "  — 
and  continued  :  "  Haow  in  the  nat-i-o-n  did  you 
pahss  lahst  evenin'  ? "  But  we  will  not  inflict 
another  dialect  on  the  long-suffering  reader.) 

"  Oh,  after  the  school-board  meeting  I  went  to 
Mr.  Anstey's  for  bed  and  breakfast." 

"  I  tried  the  school  last  year,  but  soon  gave  it 
up.  I  am  here  temporarily,  waiting  for  some  bet 
ter  opening." 

It  was  quite  refreshing  to  Anne  to  hear  her  na 
tive  tongue  again,  but  now  she  only  said :  — 

"  Can  you  give  me  a  room,  and  have  my  trunk 
sent  up  —  the  one  I  brought  here  on  the  stage 
yesterday  ?  " 

"  Why  certainly  !     Right  away  ?  " 

«  Yes  —  and  have  me  called  in  time  for  din 
ner  ?  " 

"  Why  certainly."  And  he  proceeded  to  do  all 
that  was  required,  with  an  air  that  indicated  that 
he  found  it  only  a  pleasure  to  serve  a  person  with 
whom  he  was  so  much  disposed  to  be  friendly  as 
Miss  Sparrow.  He  felt  a  certain  possessory  re 
sponsibility  for  her,  though  a  stranger,  from  having 
been  instrumental  in  bringing  her  out  West. 


126  ZURY. 

Anne  found  her  room  bare  and  hideous,  but  a 
chamber  of  state  compared  with  last  night.  After 
some  comforting  ceremonies  which  can  be  best  ap 
preciated  by  a  woman  who  has  passed  two  nights 
without  undressing,  she  lay  down  with  the  spell 
ing  book  in  hand  and  read  herself  to  sleep  in  less 
than  four  minutes  by  the  sun. 

Two  hours  later  Anne  entered  the  dining-hall, 
refreshed  and  radiant,  with  an  excellent  appetite 
for  her  dinner.  There  she  was  greeted  by  a  good- 
looking  man,  neither  young  nor  old  ;  strong,  bold, 
gay,  and  sharp.  He  set  a  place  for  her,  and  made 
himself  so  serviceable  that  she  innocently  took 
him  for  the  host.  They  dined  together,  and  he, 
being  just  in  from  a  journey  (though  chiefly  oc 
cupied  in  talking  about  himself),  was  willing  and 
able  to  give  to  everybody  the  news  of  the  world. 

He  called  Anne  by  name,  evidently  knew  a  good 
deal  about  her,  and  as  evidently  wished  to  know 
more  ;  but  made  his  researches  so  naively  and  good- 
naturedly  that  she  was  rather  amused  than  of 
fended  or  annoyed  at  the  easy  task  of  baffling 
them.  After  the  meal  was  over  he  voluntarily 
introduced  himself  as  "  Usury  Praouder,  the  me- 
eanest  ma-an  in  Spring  Caounty,"  and  she  recog 
nized  the  mighty  arbiter  of  her  destiny  in  the 
matter  of  the  pedagogisin  of  School  District  Num 
ber  Seven. 

"So  ye  could  n't  quite  hit  it  off  with  the  school 
board,  could  n't  ye  ?  " 

«  Who  told  you  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  everythin' —  don't  need  t'  be  told 
things  like  common  folks  ! " 


ANNE  MEETS  THE  MEANEST  MAN.     127 

"  Everything?  Do  you  know  the  back  part  of 
the  spelling-book  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  know  enough  not  t'  have  t'  know 
it,  V  that 's  better  'n  knowin'  on  it." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Prouder,  I  don't  know  so  much  as 
that ;  so  I'll  bid  you  good  day  and  go  and  learn 
it." 

"  Oh,  never  ye  mind  that !  I  '11  tell  ye  haow  t' 
git  along  'thaout  havin'  t'  know  it." 

"  How  is  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  jest  leave  the  whole  thing  t'  me,  V 
I  '11  fix  ye  aout." 

"  Well,  I  want  to  know  the  back  part  of  the 
spelling-book,  too  !  Good-bye  !  " 

"  Oh  say  !  Miss  Sparrer !  " 

But  she  was  off  and  away  up-stairs  in  a  flash : 
and  between  naps  that  afternoon  she  mastered  the 
ridiculous  little  shibboleth  from  beginning  to  end. 
She  could  have  shut  the  book  and  made  a  very 
fair  copy  of  it  from  memory. 

At  tea  Mr.  Prouder  did  not  appear,  which  some 
what  disconcerted  her.  And  in  the  evening  the 
school  board  failed  to  meet  according  to  pro 
gramme,  or  to  send  her  any  word,  which  further 
unwomaned  her,  whereupon  she  passed  a  rather 
miserable  night  —  none  the  better  for  the  many 
naps  of  the  day  preceding  it  —  some  few  tears 
finding  their  way  to  her  lonely  pillow.  But  with 
the  bright  morning  came  renewed  strength  and 
courage  as  usual. 

So  when  at  breakfast  Zury  Prouder  made  his 
appearance,  confident,  gay,  and  egotistical  as  ever, 


128  ZURY. 

she  felt  as  if  it  was  just  what  she  had  always  ex 
pected. 

"  Wai,  Miss  Sparrer,  I  fixed  that  all  right,  as 
I  said  I  would." 

"  Indeed  ?     All  right  ?     How  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  're  t'  have  the  jawb  —  leastways  if 
you  '11  agree  to  our  terms." 

"Terms?  I  thought  the  pay  was  fixed  and 
settled." 

"  Wai  —  yes  —  so  't  is,  —  in  a  way.  But  bein' 
's  ye  ain't  quite  prepared  in  yer  examination,  the 
board  proposes  t'  give  ye  half  wages  fer  the  fust 
quarter.  No  more  no  less." 

Here  a  hard  look  settled  over  Zury's  strong  face  ; 
a  mask  of  straight,  level  brow,  half-shut  eyes, 
square  jaws,  and  drawn  lips,  which  every  man  who 
ever  dealt  with  him  learned  to  know,  soon  or  late 
in  their  intercourse,  to  his  cost. 

"  But  I  'd  rather  stand  another  examination  — 
with  you  on  the  board." 

This  little  bit  of  flattery  softened  Zury's  face, 
but  not  his  heart. 

"  No  school-board  ain't  no  ways  obleeged  t'  ex 
amine  a  candidate  more  'n  wunst,  s'  fur  's  I  've  read 
the  law."  (He  had  never  looked  at  any  law  in  the 
matter,  nor  she  either.)  "  'N'  then  the  trouble  's 
right  h'yer.  The  board  's  disposed,  if  I  say  th' 
word,  t'  put  McVey  right  in,  'thaout  any  furder 
examination,  he  havin'  already  passed  perfect,  O. 
K.  and  Al." 

The  blood  came  to  Anne's  face  as  she  fully  took 
in  this  pitiful  shave,  but  she  choked  down  her  in- 


ANNE  MEETS   THE  MEANEST  MAN.      129 

dignation  with  the  thought  that  the  whole  pay 
was  so  small  that  the  loss  of  half  of  it  for  three 
months  was  scarcely  worth  thinking  of. 

"  Oh,  well  !  I  '11  take  it.  But  I  don't  see  how 
you  can  be  the  meanest  man  in  Spring  County. 
They  must  be  all  pretty  mean  !  " 

"  Sho,  sho  !  We  're  poor  country-folks  aout 
here,  'n'  not  half  ner  a  quarter  up  t'  city  ways  o' 
makin'  'n'  savin'  money  !  " 

This  was  said  with  a  deprecatory  smile,  as  if 
she  had  tried  to  flatter  him  and  Spring  County 
together.  Now  the  fact  was  (though  Anne  did 
not  find  it  out  till  long  afterward)  that  Prouder 
had  easily  forced  the  board  to  agree  to  engage 
Miss  Sparrow,  to  whom  he  had  taken  a  liking, 
and  this  cut  of  a  few  dollars  out  of  her  wages 
was  an  after- thought  purely  his  own. 

After  Anne  came  to  know  Zury  Prouder  better 
she  would  have  been  able  to  anticipate  just  such 
a  dodge  on  his  part.  This  was  the  kind  of  man 
our  old  friend  had  grown  to  be.  Whatever  diffi 
cult  or  baffling  or  puzzling  task  he  set  his  strong 
hand  to  moved  forward  at  once.  Sometimes  it 
seemed  almost  like  harnessing  a  horse  to  a  hand 
cart.  Only,  when  all  was  said  and  done,  some 
bunch  of  gain,  great  or  small,  would  always  be 
found  to  have  resulted  either  to  the  party  for 
whom  he  was  acting,  or  to  himself  as  was  often- 
est  the  case,  or  to  both.  We  shall  note  many  a 
case  wherein,  in  the  years  that  followed,  Anne 
had  this  experience :  some  word  or  act  of  his 
would  clear  her  way  of  an  obstruction  apparently 


130  ZURY. 

impregnable.  Zury  would  always  rather  do  a 
kind  act  than  an  unkind  one,  especially  if  he 
could  make  more  profit  by  the  former.  But  even 
if  no  profit  was  to  accrue,  he  would  do  it  for  fun, 
provided  that  he  suffered  no  loss.  He  was  an 
accomplished  cattle  and  horse  breeder ;  that  part 
of  his  large  business  he  attended  to  personally. 
He  loved  to  see  his  beasts  enjoy  themselves. 
Nothing  pleased  him  better  than  to  buy  a  poor, 
suffering  "  critter "  out  of  its  misery  for  fifty 
dollars,  and  then  feed  it  well,  use  it  well,  work 
it  well,  and  sell  it  well  for  a  hundred  dollars. 

Everything  he  touched  turned  to  gold.  He 
never  knew  what  weariness  was,  by  day  or  night, 
by  week,  by  month,  or  by  year.  (If  ever  dis 
posed  to  try  to  remember  what  it  meant  to  be 
tired,  he  would  look  back  on  that  first  corn-plow 
ing.)  He  was  school  director,  supervisor,  asses 
sor;  to  which  offices,  as  before  observed,  people 
elected  him  because  lie  did  the  work  so  openly 
and  so  well ;  not  because  he  did  not  manage  them 
so  that  his  own  taxes  were  less  than  they  should 
be.  His  standing  in  his  church  was  excellent  for 
similar  reasons  among  others.  Without  his  wealth 
he  could  not  have  had  these  positions,  and  with 
out  the  positions  his  riches  would  have  been  less. 

"  I  jest  make  one  hand  wash  th'  other." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

HOW  ANNE  BOARDS   'KOUND,  AND   HOW   SHE 
LIKES   IT. 

"Now,  Mr.  Prouder,  this  'boarding  around* 
—  how  is  that  managed  ?  " 

"  Wai,  ye  see  —  the  thing 's  divided  up  kinder 
this  way.  Th'  d'rectors  they  make  up  a  sched 
ule  o'  haow  many  fam'lies  the'  is  in  th'  dees- 
trick  taxable  fer  boardin'  th'  teacher,  'n'  then  the' 
put  th'  names  in  a  hat  'n'  then  dror  'em  aout ;  'n' 
th'  order  the'  happen  t'  come  in,  they  take  th' 
teacher  turn  'n'  turn  abaout.  'Course  it 's  pootty 
hard  on  a  fam'ly  th't  only  schools  one  child  t' 
board  th'  teacher  's  long  's  a  fam'ly  hez  ter  thet  's 
got  a  half  a  dozen  :  but  then.  It 's  all  owin'  t' 
haow  ye  look  at  it.  Th'  big  little  fam'lies  is  hard 
enough  t'  keep,  anyhaow.  'N'  th'  wust  luck  is 
when  ye  hain't  got  none  at  all." 

"  But  I  suppose  that  in  the  families  where  there 
are  six  children  the  teacher  only  gets  one  sixth 
as  much  to  eat  as  in  the  others,  so  that  makes  it 
square." 

"  Should  n't  wonder.  Guess  there 's  some  broods 
o'  chickens  I  know  in  the  deestrick  whar  a  strange 
pullet  like  yew  '11  hev  t'  scratch  raoun'  pootty 
lively  t'  grow  fat  enough  t'  kill  very  soon." 


132  ZURY. 

"  Oh  dear  me !  " 

"  Them  's  kin  afford  it,  kin  commute  the  teach 
er's  board  by  payin'  a  dollar  a  week  instead  o' 
takin'  her.  But  then  it's  only  a  few  th't 's  well- 
fixed  enough  t'  spare  so  much  cash." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  The  poor  ones  can  board  the 
teacher,  and  the  rich  ones  can  give  her  a  dollar  a 
week  to  stay  away  !  " 

"Eggzackly." 

"  So  all  who  can  feed  her  decently,  she  can 
keep  away  from ;  while  the  places  where  she  '11 
starve  she  must  go  to." 

44  Oh  ye  need  n't  be  afeared  't  anybody  '11  want 
t'  pay  yew  aout  rather  V  t'  keep  ye." 

Anne,  began  to  smile  gently,  pluming  herself  on 
the  implied  compliment. 

"  Ye  see  y'  ain't  like  a  man.  All  yew  '11  eat 
won't  come  to  no  dollar  a  week." 

Her  smile  died  away. 

"  So  she  must  move,  bag  and  baggage,  from  one 
place  to  another,  between  every  two  fortnights ! 
Coming  by  chance  that  way  it  will  sometimes  be 
from  one  end  of  the  district  to  the  other !  " 

"  Wai,  they  kind  o'  change  raound  with  one  an 
other.  Sometimes  th'  won't  nobody  want  t'  take 
ye',  V  then  agin  there  '11  be  two  'r  three  to 
wunst." 

44  Oh,  how  dreadful !  As  if  I  were  a  pauper, 
shoved  on  from  one  parish  to  another !  " 

44  Human  natur  's  human  natur.  Come  fust 
frost  when  the'  all  want  t'  be  a-killin',  the'  '11  all 
want  t'  git  through  boardin'  teacher  while  th' 


HOW  ANNE  BOARDS  'ROUND.  133 

pork 's  fresh.  Tell  yew !  By  the  time  ye  've 
lighted  on  tew  or  three  haouses  jest  at  killin'  time 
—  tender-lines,  sausages,  spare -ribs,  pigs -feet, 
tongues,  'n'  head-cheese  over  'n'  over  agin  t'  each 
haouse  —  ye  '11  be  's  fat  's  fat,  'n'  most  like  feel  's 
tho'  th'  brustles  wuz  a-spraoutin'  daown  yer 
back." 

" I  can't  bear  fat  pork,  and  I  shall  starve" 

"  The'  's  ben  a  good  many  folks  jes'  a-goin'  t' 
starve  on  pork,  'n'  very  few 's  ever  done  it,  I 
reckon." 

"  Oh,  I  can  not  stand  this.  How  far  is  it  to 
Springville,  and  what  will  it  cost  me  to  get 
there?" 

u  Springville  's  abaout  ten  thaousan'  miles,  'n' 
th'  fare  '11  be  abaout  a  dollar  a  mile.'* 

"  Then  I  '11  walk,  and  beg  my  way  from  door  to 
door  !  I  may  as  well  beg  from  strangers  on  that 
road  as  be  a  pauper  all  over  School  District  Num 
ber  Seven ! " 

"  Naow  ye  jest  better  hold  yer  bosses.  Ye  're 
a-borr'in'  trouble.  Hain't  ye  never  learnt  yit  not 
t'  cross  a  river  ontel  ye  come  tew  it?  " 

"  I  've  come  to  the  river  now,  this  minute  —  and 
there  's  neither  bridge  nor  ford  nor  ferry  !  " 

For  a  few  minutes  Zury  watched  her  ;  the  face 
flushed  and  lined  with  trouble  ;  the  eyes  so  round 
with  apprehension  that  they  looked  almost  per 
pendicularly  oval ;  her  foot  nervously  beating  the 
floor  ;  her  right  hand  supporting  her  left  elbow, 
while  her  left  forefinger  tapped  on  her  teeth 
in  a  manner  rather  peculiar  and  characteristic. 


134  ZURY. 

(Her  mother  used  to  call  it  "  Anne's  puzzlemen- 
tary  gesture.")  Zury  's  pause  was,  consciously  or 
otherwise,  for  dramatic  effect,  and  to  observe  her 
tribulation  before  relieving  it. 

"  Nary  bridge,  ford,  ner  ferry  —  then  we  must 
swim  er  wade.  Zury's  here  yet  —  the  me-anest 
ma-an  in  Spring  Caounty  t'  be  turned  back  on 
his  tracks." 

Anne  called  back  her  eyes  from  the  far-away 
prospect  they  were  studying  on  the  office  floor, 
and  fixed  them  on  his  face. 

"  I  b'lieve  I 's  good  's  told  the  board  't  I  'd  take 
my  boardin'  turn  fust  off,  bein'  's  they  kinder  hung 
back."  (The  fact  was  that  he  had  told  the  school- 
board  that  he  had  done  his  share  already  by  board 
ing  McVey  during  his  short  tenure  of  office,  but 
something  seemed  to  have  changed  his  views  of 
duty.) 

"  Oh  !  Are  you  married  ?  Do  your  children 
come  to  the  school  ?  " 

This  time  it  was  Zury's  look  that  wandered  far 
away  from  the  present  place  and  time  for  a  space 
of  silence  about  as  long  as  the  last.  Then  he  spoke 
in  the  touching  tone  of  an  old  grief. 

"  We  hain't  got  no  livin'  children.  The  Lord 
gave  and  taketh,  an'  blessed  be  His  name." 

During  the  silence  which  followed,  poor  Anne 
rapidly  constructed  a  scheme  wherein  she  pro 
posed  to  make  herself  so  charming  in  the  Prouder 
household  that  at  the  end  of  her  allotted  space 
they  would  beg  her  to  stay  on  and  on  indefinitely. 

"  Who  form  your  family,  then  ?  " 


HOW  ANNE  BOARDS  'BOUND.  135 

"Mary — that's  my  o'  woman;  V  S'manthy 
that 's  her  sister  ;  'n'  her  child,  little  Alphy." 

"  Rather  a  small  family." 

"  Smaller  'n  I  wish  it  wuz !  "  A  sigh.  "  But 
then  ther  's  the  hands  'baout  th'  place." 

"  Well,  but  after  you  get  tired  of  me  —  what 
then  ?  " 

"  Wai,  after  yer  tew  weeks  is  up,  we  '11  see." 

("  There,"  thought  the  hopeful  girl,  "  he  thinks 
the  same  that  I  was  thinking.") 

"  When  would  you  like  to  have  me  come  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  '11  ride  home,  'n'  fetch  a  team  over 
fer  ye  this  arternoon  ef  that  '11  suit  ye,  —  'n'  friend 
McVey  kin  anyway  spare  ye."  (This  was  a  sly 
reference  to  the  manifest  interest  poor  John  Endi- 
cott  was  beginning  to  take  in  his  fair  compatriot.) 

"  Oh,  I  think  there  need  be  no  delay.  But  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  being  led  blindfold  into  a  path 
where  I  can  see  only  two  inches  before  my  nose. 
Two  weeks  I  mean." 

The  Prouder  mansion  was  a  fine  example  of  the 
Early  Vandal  or  Aboriginal  Prairie  architecture ; 
large,  high,  square,  white,  and  hideously  ugly. 
The  windows  and  doors  were  of  the  most  distress 
ing  symmetry  and  regularity.  The  eaves  pro 
jected  only  barely  far  enough  to  clear  the  walls  and 
deliver  into  bright  tin  gutters  shining  in  the  sun. 
No  opening  had  any  perceptible  cap  projecting 
over  it,  so  all  looked  like  eyes  devoid  of  eyebrows. 
It  was  set  much  too  near  the  front  gate,  with 
which  it  was  connected  by  a  walk  composed  of  two 


136  ZURY. 

planks  several  feet  apart.  Outside  the  gate  was  a 
space  evidently  used  in  common  by  cows,  horses, 
pigs,  old  plows,  woodpiles,  and  stramonium  weeds, 
which  last  were  its  only  shade. 

Behind  the  frame  house  was  still  standing  the 
old  log  shanty,  so  speedily  erected  years  before, 
and  still  connected  with  all  the  family  associations 
—  struggle,  hardship,  sickness,  birth,  and  death. 
Not  that  Zury  had  any  such  foolish  sentiment 
about  it.  He  would  have  sold  it  for  ten  dollars 
any  day  but  for  two  reasons  :  first ;  it  was  conven 
ient  as  a  summer  kitchen  and  a  winter  wood-house, 
and,  second,  nobody  would  give  ten  dollars  for  it. 
It  was  a  most  distressed  looking  place  now  —  so 
dirty,  so  ragged  with  decaying  bark,  the  roof  so 
sunken,  and  its  old  black  clapboards  so  warped  and 
wildly  displaced.  Inside,  however,  was  the  same 
old  fire-place,  with  the  knitting  hole  behind  it, 
where  the  mother  had  so  often  sat  plying  her  busy 
needles  in  the  single  ray. 

Zury  had  often  threatened  to  have  the  old  eye 
sore  pulled  down  and  cut  up  for  fire-wood,  but  its 
usefulness  and  the  trouble  of  destroying  it  still 
saved  its  life. 

Anne  and  Prouder  on  arrival  were  greeted  with 
demonstrative  affection  by  Shep  and  his  tribe,  or 
rather  by  his  tribe  and  Shep,  as  the  latter  brought 
up  the  rear  as  became  his  age  and  infirmities. 

"  Thar !  thar  !  Daown  Shep  !  Don't  ye  let  'em 
spile  yer  clo's,  Miss  Sparrer.  Daown  ye  ornery 
whelp !  Th'  ol'  dorg  's  a-gittin  pretty  scaly 
nowadays  —  'd  oughter  ben  dead  V  buried  long 


HOW  ANNE  BOARDS  'ROUND.  137 

ago,  but  I  don't  seein  t'  have  no  time  t'  tend  t' 
things  abaout  the  haouse." 

44  Why,  poor  old  Sheppy  !  Did  his  master  want 
to  kill  him  ?  No,  no,  Sheppy  ;  you  must  n't  be 
killed,  and  you  must  n't  kiss  me  before  folks ! 
You  are  very  nicely  placed  here,  Mr.  Prouder." 
Then  she  glanced  around  to  see  what  there  was 
she  could  possibly  praise.  "  Oh,  what  lovely  holly 
hocks  !  It  must  be  pleasant  to  live  so  near  the 
grand  old  woods  !  " 

44  Yes — it's  handy  t'  have  fire-wood  clust  by, 
'n'  not  fur  t'  haul.  I  cal'late  t'  have  the  trees  on 
that  thar  forty  girdled  naow,  soon  's  I  kin  git 
raound  to  it,  so 's  it  '11  look  a  leetle  more  cleared 
up  'n'  civilized  back  o'  the  haouse." 

Anne  was  rather  struck  with  the  idea  of  forty 
acres  of  dead,  girdled  trees  as  a  symbol  of  civiliza 
tion,  but  she  did  not  have  time  to  make  any  remarks. 

44  Wai,  Mary,  here  we  be,"  said  Prouder,  as  a 
plain,  spare  woman  appeared  at  the  door.  "  Miss 
Sparrer,  lemme  make  ye  'quainted  'th  my  wife." 

44  Pleased  t'  know  ye,  Miss  Sparrer." 

Mrs.  Prouder  was  faded,  like  her  calico.  She 
looked  older  than  her  husband,  but  it  was  probably 
because  of  her  thinness,  pallor,  and  sadness.  Her 
face  was  not  wrinkled,  except  about  the  lips, 
which  were  "  all  gone,"  as  were  her  cheeks,  too, 
because  of  the  ruthless  sacrifice  of  teeth  which 
prevailed  then  (and  does  to  this  day)  among  both 
men  and  women  of  her  class.  Their  enuncia 
tion  of  principles  of  dental  policy  are  announced 
about  as  follows  :  — 


188  ZURY. 

"  Ef  one  o'  my  teeth  c'mences  t'  ache,  why  I 
go  'n'  have  it  aout,  fust 's  last,  n'  matter  ef  it  dooz 
hurt  !  I  'd  a  heap  sight  druther  have  the  pain 
all  in  one  big  wrench  th'n  spread  over  day  'n' 
night  fer  a  week  !  " 

Forthwith  the  misguided  and  inexperienced 
Eastern  girl  began  trying  to  make  herself  agree 
able.  She  asked  about  everything  and  admired 
everything  with  an  effusiveness  that  was  embar 
rassing  to  the  proud  Westerners. 

"  Oh,  what  a  picturesque  old  place  that  is  back 
there  !  Can  I  go  out  and  see  it  ?  " 

'*  Wai,  S'manthy  she  's  in  thar  cookin'  supper 
naow,  I  'xpeck ;  but  t'-morrer,  when  it 's  sort  o' 
righted  up,  the'  '11  be  time  enough." 

"  That  thar  's  the  haouse  me  'n'  father  put  up 
when  we  fus'  got  here.  Father  'n'  mother  'n'  me 
'n'  a  little  one  that  died;  'n'  ol'  Shep — we  all 
lived  in  the  covered  wagin  we  come  aout  in  ontel 
that  thar  shanty  was  done.  All  dead  naow  but 
me  'n'  ole  Shep  here." 

"And  Shep  is  a  little  like  the  house — not 
much  left  except  the  bark." 

"  Wai  —  yes  —  in  a  way.  OP  Shep's  hide  it 
dew  git  pretty  rusty :  hair  comes  aout  right  smart. 
Right  smart,  on'  it 's  clean  gone  in  spots.  He 
ain't  much  'count  no  more."  Here  the  poor  old 
dog  looked  up  deprecatingly  with  his  rheumy 
eyes,  and  went  slowly  out  as  if  he  had  understood 
every  word.  Perhaps  he  had  caught  the  sound 
of  his  name,  and  felt  a  dumb  regret  that  it  did 
not  indicate  affection  and  sympathy  on  their  part, 
and  usefulness  on  his,  as  of  old. 


HOW  ANNE  BOARDS  'ROUND.  139 

"  I  should  like  to  make  a  drawing  of  the  old 
house,  if  you  please." 

"  Why,  sartin.  Yew  kin  make  a  picter  o'  this 
haouse  ef  ye  like.  Make  a  heap  poottier  picter !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  more  elegant  and  comfortable  ;  but 
not  so  picturesque.  Perhaps  I  can  make  a  sketch 
that  will  take  in  both." 

Anne's  room,  the  "  spar  -chamber,"  was  com 
fortable  —  the  furnishing  evidently  somewhat  mod 
eled  after  that  of  the  guest-rooms  of  the  tavern 
at  Wayback :  but  there  was  one  dreadful  luxury 
which  the  tavern  was  free  from,  —  a  deep  feather 
bed.  A  bit  of  rag  carpet  covered  the  middle  of 
the  floor ;  wretched  prints  of  ringleted,  red-and- 
white,  large  foreheaded  "Mary"  and  "Eliza" 
graced  the  walls  in  company  with  a  six-by-ten 
mirror,  which  broadened  and  shortened  her  face 
so  much  that  it  made  her  low-spirited  to  look  in  it, 
and  glad  that  it  hung  so  high  that  she  could  only 
do  so  by  standing  on  tip-toe. 

The  rest  of  the  mansion  was  like  unto  the 
"spar-chamber."  The  " settin'-room "  was  a  dark 
ened  corner  apartment  with  vigorous  cross-lights, 
a  black  horsehair  sofa,  rocker,  and  two  other 
chairs ;  a  patch  of  rag-carpet,  a  black  Franklin 
stove  now  full  of  asparagus  bushes,  a  wooden 
clock  on  a  shelf ;  and,  last  and  greatest,  the  most 
appalling  caricature  of  Zury  which  could  be  con 
ceived  by  the  mind  of  man.  It  was  a  pastel  half- 
length,  life-size  as  to  the  bust,  and  as  nearly  so  as 
to  the  head  as  the  limits  of  the  picture-frame 
would  allow.  The  figure  seemed  to  have  been 


140  ZURY. 

first  drawn  with  great  care,  but  a  little  too  high 
up  on  the  canvas ;  so  that  the  head  had  to  be 
squeezed  in  on  top  of  it  as  might  best  be  done 
under  the  circumstances  —  and  the  frame;  and 
the  observer  felt  a  certain  regret  that  the  frame 
had  not  been  a  little  shorter  so  as  to  shut  it  out 
altogether. 

"  A  gentleman  't  taught  th'  school  three  winters 
ago,  he  boarded  with  us  nigh  onter  tew  months 
over  his  boardin'  time,  an'  he  painted  that  picter 
o'  Zury  t'  pay  fer  his  board." 

"  It  looks  rather  like." 

"  Wai,  folks  sez  so ;  but  I  can't  see  no  resem 
blance.  Han's'm'  picter,  though  !  " 

Anne  glanced  at  her  to  see  if  this  was  sarcasm, 
but  no:  all  was  severe  truth  and  directness  in 
that  grave,  sad  face.  They  stood  still  for  a  mo 
ment,  each  looking  out  from  one  of  the  windows. 
Then,  with  a  feeling  of  surprise  and  almost  alarm, 
Anne  heard  the  other  say,  in  a  touching  tone  of 
weariness  and  despair  —  a  falling  cadence  of  min 
gled  sigh  and  groan,  — 

"Oh  Lordy,  Lordy  !  " 

She  was  too  much  startled  to  do  anything  but 
look  and  listen  for  more,  but  Mrs.  Prouder  only 
moved  away  toward  the  eating-room,  where  sup 
per  was  soon  served.  As  she  looked  out  of  the 
back  window  she  observed  Prouder  and  the  three 
hired  men  using  the  wash-basin,  towel,  and  comb 
in  turn  and  cleaning  their  boots  on  the  grass  pre 
paratory  to  supper.  Then  they  all  trooped  in 
and  sat  down  in  their  habit  as  they  lived. 


HOW  ANNE  BOARDS  'ROUND.  141 

The  table  was  spread  with  a  vast  and  hetero 
geneous  lot  of  food.  Pork,  beef,  and  mutton, 
all  cooked  alike,  and  all  hot :  potatoes  hot  from 
the  same  pot ;  hot  soda  biscuits  in  stacks ;  green 
tea,  hot  and  strong ;  pickles,  stewed  wild  grapes, 
wild-grape  pies,  cake  in  loaves,  and  all  the  other 
indicia  of  rude  plenty. 

"  Come,  Miss  Sparrer,"  said  Zury.  "  Set  by, 
'n'  see  ef  ye  can't  make  a  meal.  Good  fer  ye  t' 
have  t'  live  wunst  in  a  while  like  poor  folks  has 
t'  live  all  the  time!" 

"  Now,  Mr.  Prouder,  I  'm  sure  you  've  no  need 
to  apologize.  I  can  assure  you  that  ninety-nine 
men  out  of  a  hundred  all  over  the  world  would 
be  glad  to  sit  down  to  such  a  well-spread  board 
as  this."  (She  meant  well !) 

The  meal  went  on  almost  in  silence  ;  Anne's 
efforts  to  keep  up  a  cheerful  flow  of  talk  being 
spasmodic  and  fruitless.  Even  Zury,  who  could 
talk  so  well  where  talk  was  customary  and  ap 
propriate,  seemed  preoccupied  and  attentive  only 
to  the  business  in  hand.  The  "  hired  hands," 
elbows  on  the  table  and  heads  low  over  the  food, 
shoveled  it  in  without  a  pause  or  a  word,  except 
occasionally  to  rattle  a  spoon  in  the  cup  and  say 
"  tea ! "  when  they  desired  to  be  served  by  Mrs. 
Prouder  and  her  sister  who  carried  around  the 
pot.  Then  each,  as  he  finished  his  meal,  pushed 
back  his  chair  and  silently  departed. 

In  spite  of  the  best  good-will  in  the  world 
Anne  made  but  a  poor  meal.  The  truth  is,  the 
cleaning  of  boots  on  the  grass  had  not  been  a 


142  ZURY. 

process  resulting  in  absolute  purification.  Am 
monia  is  the  inevitable  bane  of  all  intercourse 
with  horses  and  cattle.  Oh,  why  can  we  not  be 
led  by  Thoreau  and  Walt  Whitman  to  glory  in 
the  breath  of  Nature  —  all  the  breaths  of  Nature? 
But  we  cannot. 

After  the  meal,  if  Anne  had  had  the  wisdom 
of  the  serpent,  which  is  in  keeping  with  her  dove- 
like  harmlessness,  she  would  simply  have  with 
drawn  to  the  sitting-room  and  let  the  women 
make  their  slovenly  supper  in  peace,  and  then  tidy 
themselves  up  to  join  her.  But  no :  such  super 
natural  shrewdness  was  not  hers.  She  felt,  and 
showed,  an  ill-timed  cordiality  to  Semantha, 
younger  sister  of  Mrs.  Prouder  (now  a  widow), 
as  much  too  fat  as  the  latter  was  too  thin.  She 
wanted  to  see  Semantha's  little  daughter,  who 
had  quietly  been  confined  in  the  back  kitchen 
until  she  could  be  made  presentable  to  the  guest. 

"  Now  you  've  been  waiting  on  us ;  you  must 
let  me  wait  on  you  while  you  eat.  Sit  down,  do, 
and  tell  me  what  to  pass  to  you ! " 

44  No,  thankye.  We  '11  jest  cl'ar  off  a  place 
h'yer  on  this  side  an'  set  all  we  want  in  reach." 

Then  Anne  took  the  squalid,  dirty,  and  mal 
odorous  child  on  her  knee,  to  the  poor  mother's 
utter  discomfiture. 

"  What 's  your  name,  little  one  ?  " 

The  child  said  not  one  word,  but  went  on 
munching  a  great  piece  of  crumby,  unwholesome 
cake. 

"  Can't  you  tell  me   your  little  name  ?     And 


HOW  ANNE  BOARDS  'ROUND.  143 

how  old  you  are  ?  And  whether  you  are  a  good 
girl  or  not?" 

No  answer. 

"  You  Alphy  !     Tell  the  lady  yer  name  !  " 

Dead  silence. 

"  Oh,  you  'm  a  bad  child  !  Go  read  yer  book  ! 
Ye  must  excuse  her  mom  :  she  ain't  got  no  man 
ners,  'n'  I  ain't  never  ben  able  t'  beat  none  inter 
her,  whip  her  all  I  could.  Ner  keep  her  lookin' 
decent  nuther." 

Whereupon  the  child  slipped  down  from  Anne's 
lap  and  went  and  leaned  against  her  mother, 
casting  back  looks  of  defiance  at  her  enemy  and 
would-be  jailer. 

"  Tea  !  "  said  the  child,  jogging  her  mother 
and  pointing  to  the  cup,  filled  with  a  pale  green 
decoction  of  such  lye-like  strength  that  Anne  had 
felt  compelled  to  leave  her  own  modicum  of  it 
almost  untasted.  Semantha  placed  the  cup  at 
Alpha's  lips  and  allowed  her  to  drink  all  she 
wanted. 

"I  see  you  are  not  afraid  to  give  your  little 
girl  tea." 

"  Tea  ?  No,  indeed  !  I  oilers  'llaow  't  what  's 
good  enough  fer  me  ain't  none  tew  good  fer  Al- 


Anne  wished  to  stay  and  help  the  others  clear 
the  table  and  wash  the  dishes  ;  but,  finding 
that  they  absolutely  would  not  begin  as  long  as 
she  was  there,  she  brushed  off  the  cake-crumbs 
and  went  out  of  doors,  where  she  looked  over  the 
fence  and  watched  the  milking.  Then  she  picked 


144  ZURY. 

her  way  gingerly  down  to  the  "  spring-house," 
where  the  milk  was  kept ;  a  little  frame  struc 
ture  built  over  a  scanty  fountain,  down  on  the 
bank  of  the  "  branch  "  in  the  hollow.  Later  she 
went  back  to  the  sitting-room  and  found  there 
the  two  women  and  the  child,  slightly  "  slicked 
up"  and  made  presentable.  From  them  she 
learned  all  she  could  about  the  school  —  neither 
of  them  had  ever  visited  it.  She  tried,  also,  to 
talk  a  little  about  other  things ;  but  they  seemed 
as  devoid  of  curiosity  as  of  ideas.  And  twice, 
during  the  short  evening,  was  she  startled  by 
that  "  Oh  Lordy,  Lordy  !  "  which  one  might  nat 
urally  have  looked  for  in  the  cancer-ward  of  a 
hospital  for  incurables,  but  scarcely  in  the  sunny 
out-door  world. 

"  I  've  got  a  little  room  here  I  use  fer  a  kind  of 
an  office,  'n'  if  ye '11  come  in  a  minute  we'll  fix 
up  yer  'pintment-paper  fer  the  school." 

So  Anne  followed  Zury  to  a  wretched  cubby 
hole,  with  a  more  wretched  desk  and  a  most 
wretched  pen  and  ink  sneaking  among  a  lot  of 
dusty,  grimy,  blotted  papers,  scored  with  the 
wildly  sprawling  hieroglyphics  of  rough  hands 
hardened  by  toil.  Records  are  not  necessary  to 
such  men  as  Zury  Prouder,  except  to  keep  other 
people  in  mind  of  mutual  undertakings.  He  and 
men  of  his  kind  remember  words,  facts,  and  figures 
to  an  extent  that  would  appall  a  methodical  busi 
ness  man  accustomed  to  make  a  written  record 
of  all  that  occurs.  Zury  had  "  writin's  "  for  every 
thing  which  might  be  disputed  by  other  men, 


HOW  ANNE  BOARDS  'ROUND.  145 

for  the  purpose  of  settling  differences ;  but  for 
the  mere  purpose  of  keeping  things  in  his  own 
memory,  no  lapse  of  time  could  make  any  mem 
orandum  necessary. 

"Naow,  here's  th'  blank  fer  scheduling  yer 
'pintment."  And  he  took  out  a  long  printed 
form  with  spaces  for  answers. 

"First  I'll  put  th'  date  —  thar  —  we're  fixed 
on  that.  Naow,  name  ?  " 

"  Anne  Sparrow." 

"  Where  born  ?  " 

"  Massachusetts." 

"Sex?" 

"  Unfortunately,  female." 

"  Age  at  'pintment  ?  " 

"Oh,  what  do  they  want  to  know  that  for? 
Do  they  expect  a  woman  to  tell  her  age? " 

"  Wai,  they  'xpect  her  t'  tell  some  age  er  other ; 
V  one  old  enough  to  show  she  comes  within  the 
statit  —  over  eighteen  and  under  seventy." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  'in  old  enough  to  vote  if  women 
had  their  rights." 

"  Put  ye  daown  a  hunderd,  then ;  women  'd 
oughter  to  be  voters ;  jest  as  they  touch  th'  even 
hunderd,  'n'  not  a  minute  before." 

"  Well,  I  'm  twenty-one,  and  if  I  don't  know 
more  than  the  average  voters  "  — 

"  'Course  ye  do !  That 's  th'  reason  we  men 
want  t'  shet  ye  aout  ontel  ye  've  fergot  a  lot." 

"  Just  like  you  !     Well,  what  next  ?  " 

"  Married  or  single  ?  " 

Anne's  color  rose.     Said  she,  — 


146  ZURY. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Prouder,  is  all  this  necessary  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  ye  want  t'  dror  money  aout  of  th' 
deestrict  fun's.  Ef  ye  dew,  why,  then,  I  've  got  t' 
fill  all  th'  blanks  in  this  h'yer  paper." 

"Let  me  take  it,  please."  He  handed  it  to  her 
and  she  scanned  it  carefully,  to  gain  time,  while 
conscious  that  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  glowing 
face. 

"  Can  I  keep  this  a  while  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  It  don't  make  no  difference,  's  I 
know  on.  I  've  told  ye  fair  and  square  about  th' 
money  part."  So  she  folded  the  paper,  and  they 
returned  to  the  "settV  re  win." 

As  early  as  possible  Anne  retired  to  her  room. 
The  bed  problem  was  still  to  be  settled.  What 
should  she  do  in  that  mushy  cloud?  Sleep  in  it? 
Scarcely,  as  she  was  not  an  angel  yet.  Still  she 
could  try  ;  so  when  prepared  for  slumber  she  set 
the  chair  by  the  bedside,  turned  down  the  clothes, 
and  stepped  high  and  clear  over  the  edge  into  the 
middle ;  then  the  other  foot ;  then  she  stooped 
down,  lay  down,  and  felt  as  if  she  were  sinking 
into  the  ocean. 

Under  these  circumstances  it  was  hard  to  get 
asleep  and  easy  to  awake.  She  rose  betimes  in 
the  morning,  and  after  making  her  bed,  watched 
until  the  men-folks  had  breakfasted,  and  descended 
to  eat  with  the  others.  But  no;  they  would  not 
sit  down  with  her.  When  she  had  quite  finished 
they  took  their  meal  in  their  usual  higgledy- 
piggledy  way.  She  was  hurt,  yet  not  disheartened, 
and  resolved  to  persevere  in  her  kind  efforts  until 


HOW  ANNE  BOARDS  'ROUND.  147 

she  should  wear  out  their  reserve.  But  to  change 
women's  natures  is  a  hard  task.  They  are  the 
conservatives  of  the  race.  No  such  feeble  and 
familiar  force  as  the  doings  of  one  of  their  own 
sex  can  move  them,  —  if  a  man  gets  to  persuading 
them,  —  why,  that  is  different. 

In  a  day  or  two  Anne  made  her  sketch  of  the 
house,  the  log  shanty,  and  old  Shep.  All  were 
slightly  flattered,  of  course  ;  the  ugliness  of  the 
new  house  modified,  and  that  of  the  old  house 
and  dog  intensified.  The  women  were  much  im 
pressed  with  the  work,  but  not  in  unmixed  gratifi 
cation.  The  old  log  structure,  Anne's  favorite, 
on  which  she  had  bestowed  much  loving  labor,  was 
offensive  to  them. 

"  Wai,  thar !  Ef  Zury  don't  have  that  old  eye 
sore  took  daown  naow,  and  a  frame  kitchen  put 
up,  then  I  '11  give  up ! " 

Zury's  own  comment  was  characteristic.  (He  had 
had  more  chance  to  observe  engravings  and  prints.) 
"  Gee  Rusalem !  Ain't  that  all-fived  cute  ?  Naow 
ef  I  wuz  a-tryin'  t'  sell  th'  place,  that  'd  help 
right  smart !  A  feller  'd  like  enough  give  a  heap 
more  fer  the  homestead  ef  he  see  sech  a  pootty 
picter  on  't ! "  Then,  for  fear  of  encouraging  any 
idea  of  owing  Anne  anything  for  her  work,  he 
added:  "But  then,  'course  I  ain't  thinkin'  o' 
sellin'  it." 

So  her  little  effort  won  for  her  some  applause 
and  fame  ;  but  this  power,  among  the  rest,  marked 
and  accentuated  the  difference  between  her  and 
her  new  friends,  which  she  was  trying  to  lessen. 


148  ZURY. 

Zury  had  told  Anne  so  much  about  their  early 
doings  in  the  log  shanty  that  she  insisted,  one  day, 
on  being  admitted  to  its  interior;  and  he,  being 
less  subject  to  false  pride  than  his  "  women-folks," 
piloted  her  thither  at  once. 

"Thar  —  ye  kin  see  the  split  log  floor  I  laid; 
see  it  through  the  cracks?  We  put  them  boards 
on  it  arterw'ds  when  mam  wuz  sick.  Thar's 
whar  th'  bed  stood  —  sis  'n'  mam  V  dad  all  died 
on  that  thar  bed,  'n'  wuz  laid  out  ontew  it. 
Thar,  'longside  th'  fire,  's  mam's  old  knittin'-hoel. 
Them  punkins  is  a-dryin'  up  thar  on  th'  same 
ol'  poles  we  useter  dry  'em  on.  Same  old  fly 
trap,  tew."  And  he  pointed  to  two  boards,  an 
inch  or  so  apart,  baited  with  honey  on  their  inner 
faces,  hanging  overhead  where  the  women  could 
conveniently  clap  them  together  occasionally, 
whereby  a  myriad  of  flies  had  been  sacrificed, 
and  their  un buried  remains  were  left  to  tell  the 
tale. 

"And  some  of  the  old  newspapering  yet  re 
mains  ! " 

"Ya-as.  Right  up  in  that  corner  is  a  story  I 
read  th'  beginning  of ;  —  'n'  th'  eend  of  it  ain't 
nowhar!"  And  he  sighed  as  with  an  ancient 
grievance. 

"  What,  there  —  over  the  flour-barrel  ?  I  'd  like 
to  read  it !  " 

"  Wai,  ye  kin  ef  ye  wanter.  But  I  would  n't  ef 
I  wuz  yew  I  It  '11  jest  hawnt  ye  !  " 

"Oh,  I '11  risk  that!" 

"  Wai,  so  be  it.  H'yer,  I  '11  set  a  cheer  fer  ye 
t'  step  up  on." 


HOW  ANNE  BOARDS  'ROUND.  149 

"What  —  there?  No  chair  for  me,  I  thank 
you !  "  She  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two,  gathered 
up  her  skirts,  and  skipped  to  the  top  of  the  flour- 
barrel  like  a  bird. 

"  Great  Scott !  Look  at  her  once  !  Ye  're  a 
reg'lar  deer  'n'  no  mistake." 

"  Of  course  I  am  —  if  you  spell  it  right." 

Then  she  read  the  thrilling  tale,  taking  about 
four  minutes  to  take  in  what  had  probably  occu 
pied  all  Zury's  spare  time  for  as  many  days.  After 
she  had  finished  it  she  pondered  a  moment  and 
then  said  :  — 

"  Oh,  I  know  the  end  of  that  story  —  and  I'll 
write  it  out  for  you." 

"  Sakes  alive  !     If  ye  only  would,  I'd  "— - 

"  Well,  I  will." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


UNIVERSALISM,  AND  "  COMMON-LAW  MARRIAGE. 

BY  means  of  assiduous  cultivation  of  little 
Alpha,  Anne  managed  to  make  some  small  head 
way  with  her  mother,  and  in  a  day  or  two  con 
trived  to  have  a  quiet  talk  with  her  down  at  the 
44  spring  house."  (School  was  not  to  begin  — 
44  take  in  "  —  till  the  following  Monday.) 

44  Wai,  I  tell  ye  haow  't  is,  Miss  Sparrer.  Mary 
she  warn't  never  no  gre't  of  a  talker,  but  still  she 
held  her  own  with  th'  rest  on  us  ontel  she  got 
mar'rd  ;  V  she  had  tew  babes  right  along,  V 
then  the'  both  upped  V  died,  e'enabaout  together ; 
V  then  —  wal,  I  dunno  's  I  've  saw  her  t'  smile 
sence.  'N'  so  it  goes." 

44  Dear,  dear  !  Poor  thing  !  And  that  is  what 
makes  her  do  so  ?  " 

44 Do  so?     Haow?" 

44  Why,  4  Oh  Lordy,  Lordy  ! '  you  know." 

44  Wal,  I  dunno  's  I  ever  noticed  her  doin'  that 
pertickler,  V  yet  naow  ye  say  it,  it  dooz  sound 
like  her,  tew  !  " 

44  Why,  she  does  it  nearly  twenty  times  a  day." 

44  Law  suz  !  Is  that  so  !  Wal,  I  s'pose  I  got  so 
used  to  it  I  Ve  clean  forgot  all  abaout  it." 

44 1  suppose  she  says  that  whenever  she  thinks 


UNIVERSALISM.  151 

of  her  children,  and  thinks  of  them  every  time 
she  says  that." 

"  Likely,  likely.  Same  time  she  lost  'em  she 
lost  all  hopes  o'  havin'  more :  V  Zury  he  never 
says  nothin' ;  but  he  's  gettin'  pootty  well  fixed,  V 
nat'rally  would  wish  t'  have  somebody  of  his  own 
blood  t'  leave  all  his  truck  tew :  so  Mary  she  jest 
wishes  she  c'd  die  so  he  could  have  a  chance  for 
another  wife  V  more  chill'n  ;  but  she  says  she 
can't  even  die  ;  V  so  it  goes  !  " 

"  And  not  even  a  Hagar  she  can  offer  to  the 
patriarch  !  " 

u  Wai,  no.  Them  was  Bible  times,  ye  know. 
We  're  Christians  now  :  though  Zury  ain't  never 
experunced  religion  the'  dew  say  !  " 

"  Never  experienced  religion  ?  " 

"  No.  Never  be'n  convicted  o'  sin  at  any  of 
the  revivals,  'n'  made  a  child  o'  grace  by  a 
change  o'  heart,  ye  know." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Anne,  who  had  almost  forgotten 
there  was  such  a  thing,  and  that  she  was  now  in 
the  very  region  where  a  public,  spasmodic  regen 
eration  was  looked  upon  as  necessary  to  individual 
salvation.  "  But  he  is  a  good  man,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh,  Zury  dooz  'ccordin'  tew  his  lights,  and 
he  's  too  good  a  friend  t'  th'  church  t'  make  'em  's 
pertickler  as  they  'd  be  'th  yew  'n'  me.  He  's 
often  be'n  made  the  objeck  of  special  prayers ;  to 
meetin'  'n'  camp-meetin's  'n'  sech  ;  'n'  he 's  ben 
led  t'  th'  anxious  seat  more  times  'n'  ye  c'd 
shake  a  stick  at  —  but  nary  tear  ner  cry  fer  mercy 
could  they  ever  git  outer  him  !  Not  even  when 


152  ZURY. 

others,  men,  women,  and  cliildern  wuz  a-fallin'  V 
a-shoutin'  all  over  the  place.  'N'  so  it  goes." 

After  a  few  moments'  silence  she  went  on  in  a 
mysterious  whisper  :  — 

"  It  come  pootty  nigh  gittin'  him  in  trouble 
wunst,  tew ! " 

44  Did  he  go  astray  ?  " 

"  Wai,  't  wuz  this  way.  Some  o'  the  broth- 
ren  they  upped  'n'  'llaowed  's  haow  Zury  wuz  a 
Universalist ! " 

"  A  Universalist  ?  " 

"  Nothin'  shorter !  'Llaowed  they  'd  seed  Univer 
salist  papers  hid  in  th'  barn !  " 

"  Well,  suppose  he  had  been." 

"  Aha  —  I  guess  you  dunno  what  a  Universalist 
is !  "  (Then  with  a  still  more  horrified  whisper.) 
"  It 's  a  person  that  believes  't  all  mankind  '11  be 
saved !  "  (A  pause  to  note  the  effect  of  this 
frightful  thought.)  "  'Course  no  true  Christian 
kin  b'lieve  no  sech  a  doctrine  's  that !  Why,  if  I 
b'lieved  I  should  n't  be  punished  hereafter,  I  'd  jest 
go  out  an'  be  jest  's  wicked  's  ever  I  c'd  be  !  " 

"  What  did  Mr.  Prouder  do?  " 

"  Oh,  he  jes'  upped  'n'  proved  it  was  all  a  m'li- 
cious  lie,  gotten  up  t'  hurt  him.  He  moved  a 
c'mittee  be  'pinted  that  very  meetin'  t'  come  up  'n' 
sarch  the  barn  nex'  day.  Wai,  they  'mended  it  so 
't  the  c'mittee  went  right  up  same  night;  'n'  sure 
enough,  they  foun'  a  batch  o'  papers !  'N'  then 
Zury  showed  haow  he  'd  bought  a  new  fannin'- 
mill ;  'n'  the  fans  wuz  packed  in  old  papers,  'n'  he 
never  knowd  what  wuz  printed  onto  'em.  'N' 


UNIVERSALISM.  153 

they  reported  t'  the  conf  rence  ;  V  the  conference 
they  held  a  secret  meetin'  'n'  had  a  pootty  lively 
time,  but  the'  voted  by  a  majority  t'  clear  Zury 
'n'  censure  the  fannin'-mill  comp'ny  ;  'n'  that  the 
broth ren  wouldn't  buy  no  fannin'-mills  o'  that 
make  'thaout  they  'd  clear  themselves  o'  the  charge  ; 
'n'  the  comp'ny  the}7  come  out  in  all  the  papers  in 
advertisements,  sayin'  't  ef  it  ever  did  happen  't 
wuz  an  accident  'n'  should  n't  happen  agin,  'n'  ad 
vertised  f er  old  Orthodox  papers  t'  be  furnished  'em 
ferpackin'  purposes,  'n'  so  many  wuz  sent  'em  they 
hed  t'  hire  a  barn  t'  store  'em  in  ;  'n'  it  wuz  the 
best  thing  fer  'em  ever  happened  in  their  business. 
'N'  so  it  goes." 

"  Well,  suppose  they  had  proved  it  on  Mr. 
Prouder." 

"  Oh,  't  would  n't  a-done  at  all !  Zury  he  mought 
abaout  's  well  a  hed  a  pack  o'  cards  found  onto 
th'  place.  A  Universalist  right  into  a  Christian 
c'munity!  He'd  a  hed  to  a  got  aout  o'  Spring 
Caounty  best  way  he  could,  I  reck'n,  'n'  lucky  ef 
he  car'r'd  anythin'  away  with  him,  tew,  barrin'  a 
coat  o'  tar  'n'  feathers  mebby." 

"  Do  they  feel  so  about  here  now  ? "  asked 
Anne,  glad  to  have  learned  so  much  so  early. 

"  Wai,  I  'm  'fraid  th'  ain't  such  a  strong  feel- 
in'  naow.  I  fear  we  're  a-fallin'  from  grace,  spite 
o'  the  prayers  of  the  righteous  which  availeth 
much.  The  preachers  'n'  class-leaders  says  we  be. 
Preacher  he  gin  us  a  paowerfle  discourse  a  while 
back  from  Rev'lations  third,  fifteenth,  4  So  then 
that  thaou  art  lewkwarm,  and  neither  cold  ner  hot 


154  ZURY. 

I  will  spew  thee  aout  of  my  maouth?  When  I  got 
home  I  jest  upped  'iT  1'arnt  that  tex'  by  heart ; 
'n'  I  think  't  anybody  th't  'd  let  a  Universalist 
live  'mongst  God's  people  better  larn  that  tex' 
'n'  tremble,  that  's  all  !  'N'  so  it  goes." 

Of  course  the  critical  moment  for  Anne  was 
when  she  began  school.  Her  heart  beat  quick,  her 
color  came  and  went ;  but  she  set  her  lips  together 
and  (coached  by  Eureka  Anstey)  stepped  to  the 
door  and  rapped  smartly  on  the  frame  with  her 
ruler.  The  scholars  came  trooping  in  ;  disorderly 
yet  not  very  noisy,  because  all  the  boys  and  most 
of  the  girls  were  barefoot. 

They  took  seats  as  they  had  been  accustomed, 
the  girls  on  the  right  and  the  boys  on  the  left,  on 
benches  standing  in  front  of  desks  which  backed 
against  the  wall  on  three  sides  of  the  bare  room, 
the  fourth  side  being  given  up  to  the  teacher's 
desk  and  the  two  entrance  doors.  An  inner  line 
of  hard,  backless,  and  armless  benches  accommo 
dated  the  children  too  small  to  use  the  desks.  In 
the  midst  stood  a  long,  rusty,  rectangular  stove. 

A  most  unpromising  lot  of  scholars  they  looked 
to  her  Eastern  eyes.  All  degrees  of  coarseness, 
ignorance,  suspicion,  insubordination,  seemed  to  be 
the  rule  ;  decent  considerateness  and  conscience 
the  exception.  Alwa}7s  the  young  are  cruel  to 
their  teachers  :  the  lower  the  grade  the  greater 
the  cruelty.  These  scholars  were  low  in  grade, 
and  their  appearance  was  even  more  repellant  than 
their  real  nature  because  of  their  uncouth  rusticity. 


CO  MM  ON-LA  W  MA  RRIA  GE.  1 55 

Anne  had  brought  with  her  some  blank  books 
ruled  and  headed  for  scholars'  names,  ages,  at 
tendance,  and  so  forth  ;  the  first  of  the  kind  ever 
seen  in  District  Number  Seven.  This  novelty, 
together  with  the  interest  excited  by  the  new 
teacher's  pretty  appearance,  kept  a  moderate  de 
gree  of  order  during  the  preliminary  roll-call,  dis 
tribution  of  books,  and  other  necessary  proceed 
ings. 

"Now,  scholars,  we  will  begin  by  singing. 
What  hymns  do  you  know?"  Dead  silence. 
"  Any  one  may  speak."  More  silence.  "  Do  you 
know  '  When  Thee  I  seek  Protecting  Power  '  ?  " 
No  answer.  "  Let  us  try  that." 

Then  she  sang  a  verse  all  through  alone,  no 
one  attempting  to  join. 

"  Eureka,  my  dear,  come  here,  please."  Eureka 
bashfully  came  forward  amid  the  titters  of  the 
rest.  A  whispered  conference  revealed  the  fact 
that  they  knew  "  When  I  can  read  my  title  clear." 
So  Anne  gave  it  out,  started  it,  and  sang  one 
verse  —  alone  as  before. 

"  Why  don't  you  sing,  scholars  ?  Eureka,  why 
do  you  not  sing  ?  " 

"  That  ain't  the  right  tune." 

44  What  tune  do  you  sing  it  to?  "  For  some  time 
nobody  spoke  ;  then  some  boy  said,  44  The  tune 
of  when  I  kin  read,"  at  which  sally  they  all  laughed. 
Poor  Anne  was  baffled  and  already  half  disheart 
ened.  Still,  she  put  on  a  brave  face  and  said  :  — 

44  Let  us  try  Old  Hundred.  I  'in  sure  you  all 
know  that." 


156  ZURY. 

So  she  sang  "  From  all  that  dwell  below  the 
skies  "  — again  entirely  alone. 

44  Is  not  that  the  tune  you  have  heard  ?  " 

44  Them  ain't  th'  right  words." 

44  What  are  the  words,  then  ? "  No  answer. 
"  Eureka,  dear,  what  words  have  you  been  used  to 
sing  Old  Hundred  to  ?  " 

"  Be  thaou  O  God." 

44  Then  we  will  sing  those  words."  And  she 
sang  the  verse  —  once  more  as  a  solo. 

44  Do  join  me  in  singing  !     Why  will  you  not?  " 

"  This  ain't  no  singin'-scule.  We  did  n't  come 
h'yer  t'  larn  t'  sing."  This  rude  speech  came 
from  a  hulking  fellow  whom  she  had  noticed  as 
sitting  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  head 
bent  over  them,  seemingly  the  better  to  throw  re 
bellious  remarks  right  and  left  in  semi-secrecy. 

44  You  should  trust  your  teacher.  I  will  teach 
you  everything  you  came  to  learn,  and  singing  be 
sides,  if  you  will  let  me.  I  am  going  to  try  hard 
to  make  you  all  love  me  —  if  you  can." 

Then  clasping  her  hands  tightly  together  to  give 
her  fortitude  to  bear  her  trials  she  came  forward, 
and  said  in  gentle  tones  of  touching  appeal :  — 

44  Have  I  no  friends  among  you  all  ?  I  hoped 
to  have  you  all  for  my  friends.  I  will,  if  you  do 
not  prevent  it.  I  am  a  long  way  from  home  — 
all  alone  —  you  are  my  only  hope." 

"  Better  go  back  whar  ye  come  from." 

44  I  can't,  now.  I  must  keep  on  trying  here. 
Now,  if  there  are  any  of  you  who  are  willing  to 
stand  by  me  —  like  young  ladies  and  gentlemen 
—  please  all  sing  with  me  this  time." 


COMMON-LA  W  MARRIA GE.  157 

Then  she  sang  the  verse  again,  and  to  her  slight 
relief  there  were  several  girlish  voices  half  audible 
with  hers. 

"  There  !  I  know  I  shall  find  some  one  to  love  ! 
Now,  once  more  !  " 

This  time  there  was  quite  a  fair  volume  of 
sound,  and  she  tried  to  think  the  worst  was  past. 

As  soon  as  the  verse  was  ended,  the  same  dread 
ful  boor  called  loudly,  — 

"  Please  'm',  m'  I  g'  aout?" 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"  I  want  ou'doors." 

"  You  want  out-doors." 

"  Thet  's  wut  I  said  !     I  want  aout." 

At  last  she  understood  this  Westernism,  new  to 
her.  To  "  want  out  "  is  to  desire  to  go  out. 

"  You  can  go  at  ten  o'clock  intermission.  Not 
before." 

"Why  not  can't  I?" 

"  You  cannot  go  till  then.  It  is  only  a  few 
minutes  now." 

"  I  guess  I  kin  !  " 

"  If  you  go  now,  you  can't  come  back  any 
more." 

"  Yew  bet  I  kin  come  back  when  I  'm  a-mhV 
ter." 

"  What's  your  name?" 

"  PudJ'n'  tame."     General  laughter. 

"  Will  any  scholar  tell  me  that  boy's  name  ?  " 
No  answer.  "I'll  call  the  roll  to  find  it  out." 
Then  she  read  over  her  list,  marking  the  answers 
—  and  found  all  the  names  marked,  although  the 


158  ZURY. 

rebel  had  not  spoken.  Some  one  had  answered 
for  him. 

"  You  can  go,  and  not  return."  He  did  not 
stir. 

By  this  time  ten  o'clock  had  arrived. 

"  Girls,  please  all  rise  and  stand  still  in  your 
places.  Now  all  turn  toward  me  and  stand  still. 
Now,  while  I  sing,  all  march  quietly  out,  keeping 
step  to  my  singing."  She  sang  "  Hail  Columbia," 
keeping  time  by  clapping  her  hands,  and  the  girls 
departed  with  a  good  deal  of  decorum  ;  some  even 
entering  into  her  spirit  sufficiently  to  clap  their 
hands  in  time  with  hers,  and  to  continue  the  sing 
ing  and  marching  in  the  open  air.  When  all  were 
out  she  closed  and  locked  -their  door,  and  went 
over  to  the  boys'  door. 

u  Boys,  please  go  out  quietly,  one  by  one,  as  I 
call  your  names." 

"  No  sirree,  hoss-fly  and  buggee !  "  cried  the 
rebel.  "  C'm  on  boys  !  "  And  he  bolted  through 
the  open  window. 

"  Silas  Anstey  !  Please  stand  at  that  window 
and  don't  let  any  one  else  go  out."  Silas  hesitated 
a  moment,  and  the  bully's  voice  came  in. 

"  C'm  on  Sile!" 

Anne  looked  at  Silas  with  a  sweet,  confiding 
smile  —  and  prevailed.  He  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  window  while  the  other  boys  filed  out  one 
by, one  as  their  names  were  called. 

"  I  '11  lick  yew,  Sile  Anstey,  jest 's  quick  's  yew 
stick  yer  snoot  aout  h'yer  !  " 

As  he  passed  her  Anne  said,  "John  Felser?" 


COMMON-LA  W  MARRIA  GE.  159 

He  nodded.  She  touched  his  hand  and  said,  gently, 
"  I  have  a  friend,  after  all !  " 

"  Yew  bet  !  "  Then  when  he  got  outside : 
"  Whar  's  th'  ornery  whelp  's  a-goin'  t'  lick  me  ?  " 
But  the  whelp  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  had 
departed,  followed  by  the  jeers  of  all  the  rest. 

When  the  school  was  again  started,  however, 
he  returned,  and  began  shouting,  from  a  safe  dis 
tance,  a  stream  of  ribald  abuse. 

"  Please  'in,'  m'  I  g'  aout,"  said  Silas. 

"  Not  till  next  intermission,  Silas.  We  must 
keep  to  our  rules." 

Then  she  put  as  good  a  face  on  the  situation  as 
she  could,  and  allotted  to  all  such  lessons  as  they 
seemed  to  be  fitted  for,  and  set  them  to  studying. 
As  the  horrid  words  kept  on  coming  in,  Anne 
said :  — 

"  The  boys  may  listen  to  such  language  if  they 
like,  but "  (turning  to  the  girls)  "  we  ladies  must 
do  this  way  to  protect  ourselves."  She  bent  over 
her  desk  with  her  hands  covering  her  ears.  In 
stantly,  every  girl  was  poring  over  her  book,  her 
ears  closed  to  all  sounds. 

The  turn  things  had  taken  was,  on  the  whole, 
favorable  to  the  cause  of  law  and  order,  because 
every  soul  within  was  enlisted  against  the  brute 
without.  Still,  the  session  was  a  failure.  At  the 
eleven  o'clock  intermission  he  had  again  disap 
peared,  only  to  re-appear  as  soon  as  school  was 
again  called.  Some  laughed,  some  talked  about 
the  matter,  all  were  upset. 

At  "  noon-spell  "  Silas  said,   as  he  came  out, 


160  ZURY. 

"  Let's  go  fer  him,  boys  !  "  And  they  went.  All 
the  long  hour,  while  poor  Anne  was  pretending  to 
eat  the  huge  "  piece  "  —  cold  sausage,  johnny-cake, 
pie,  honey,  et  cetera,  which  she  had  brought  from 
home  (for  which  the  events  of  the  morning  had 
left  her  no  appetite),  she  heard  the  answering 
cries  of  the  scouting  parties  searching  all  possible 
and  impossible  places  within  reach,  —  a  fruitless 
search.  The  enemy  had  retired  out  of  range,  she 
fondly  hoped,  for  good.  But  no  —  the  affliction 
continued,  at  intervals,  up  to  the  three  o'clock 
intermission,  at  the  close  of  which,  she  observed 
that  Silas  did  not  come  in  with  the  rest. 

"Alas!  —  my  one  ally  has  deserted  me,"  she 
thought,  and  felt  as  if  she  must  give  up  and  burst 
out  crying.  It  was  with  a  mixture  of  horror  and 
relief  that  she  heard,  soon  after,  Silas's  voice  :  — 

"  Ye  would,  would  ye  !  Ye  ornery  whelp  !  " 
followed  by  unmistakable  indications  of  a  battle 
royal.  Instantly  began  a  tendency  of  spectators 
to  doors  and  windows,  which  she  repressed  with 
difficulty ;  using,  as  the  most  effectual  expedient, 
a  singing  lesson.  She  made  all  join  her  in  Old 
Hundred,  and  then,  with  more  difficulty,  induced 
them  to  sing,  "  When  I  can  read,"  in  the  tune 
they  were  accustomed  to :  an  air  wherein  five 
separate  notes,  bound  together,  are  fitted  to  the 
monosyllable  which  ends  the  second  line. 

She  joined  them  after  hearing  the  air  once 
through.  Even  while  she  sang  she  could  not  help 
thinking  of  her  knight  outside,  fighting  her  battle 
in  the  woodland  lists ;  and  she  tremblingly  hoped 
for  his  success  in  the  tourney. 


COMMON-LAW  MARRIAGE.  161 

"  Ask  me  not  what  a  maiden  feels 

When  left  in  that  dread  hour  alone. 
Perchance  her  reason  stoops  or  reels. 
Perchance  a  courage  not  her  own 
Braces  her  heart  to  desperate  tone." 

The  singers  had  only  reached  the  middle  of  the 
second  verse  of  "  When  I  can  read,"  — 

"  When  I  've  been  there  ten  thousand  years 
Bright  shining  as  the  su-u-u-u-un," 

when  the  music  suddenly  stopped,  and  all  eyes 
were  turned  toward  the  boys'  door.  Silas  had 
dragged  up  his  adversary,  and  now  had  him  pinned 
down  on  the  door-stone,  beaten,  but  still  sullen 
and  struggling. 

"  Want  him  in  ?  " 

"  If  he  wants  to  come,  and  is  willing  to  behave 
himself  in  a  way  fit  for  the  company  of  a  lady  — 
and  of  proper  boys  and  girls." 

"  Dew  ye,  John  ?  "     With  a  fresh  shake. 

"  No,  I  don't !  'N'  I  '11  kill  yew,  Sile  Anstey, 
fust  chance  I  git ! " 

"  Yew  '11  kill  thunder !  "  And  Silas  freed  his 
hold,  and  started  him  down  the  road  with  a  rous 
ing  kick. 

"  Silas,"  said  Anne  with  a  smile  that  belied 
the  reproof,  "  don't  you  know  it  is  very  wrong 
to  fight  ?  " 

u  No,  I  don't !  Not  when  a  feller  's  spilin'  fer  a 
lickin'  th'  way  he  wuz !  " 

"  Well,  it  is  —  quite  wrong  to  fight  —  in  most 
cases.  Now  come  here  and  hold  still  while  I  sew 
your  collar  where  it 's  torn  ! "  And  she  whipped 


162  ZURY. 

out  her  needle  and  thread  and  repaired  the  battle- 
rents  in  her  champion's  armor,  while  he  stood  the 
observed  of  all  observers  and  the  hero  of  the  hour. 

Yes  —  it  was,  on  the  whole,  a  victory  for  law 
and  order,  but  Anne  had  none  of  the  joy  of 
triumph.  The  day's  experiences  were  dreadful : 
altogether  abhorrent  to  her  sensitive  soul.  Rebel 
lion,  insult,  ridicule,  defiance,  brutal  violence. 
Such  sights,  smells,  and  sounds  ;  such  barbarism 
in  manners,  dress,  and  person  ;  such  seeming  bad 
ness  of  heart  and  ignorance  of  right  views  and 
standards,  she  had  never  met,  nor  dreamed  of. 
How  did  she  know  but  that  Felser's  friends  had 
a  right  to  force  him  upon  the  school,  behave  him 
self  as  he  might?  Was  she  mistress  or  slave? 
Who  could  tell  ? 

A  sudden  sense  of  loathing  for  her  new  environ 
ments,  and  a  passionate  longing  to  return  to  her 
old  ones,  seized  on  her  with  overwhelming,  stifling 
force.  She  restrained  her  feelings  with  difficulty 
till  four  o'clock  came,  barely  managed  to  dismiss 
the  young  cubs  with  the  pretense  of  a  smile,  and 
then  hastened  to  lock  herself  in  and  be  alone  once 
more  —  alone  with  her  homesick  misery.  Boston, 
dear  Boston  !  Why  could  she  not  fly  there,  over 
hill  and  dale  and  lake  and  river,  like  a  homing 
pigeon  !  At  that  moment  she  loved,  in  memory, 
the  very  smell  of  its  wharves,  the  mud  of  its  gut 
ters  !  Better  its  poor-house  —  hospital  —  jail  — 
an}7 thing  —  than  all  the  wretched  West ! 

She  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  She 
rolled  her  bowed  and  aching  head  from  side  to  side 


COMMON-LA  W  MARRIA  GE.  163 

on  her  arms  crossed  on  the  desk,  and  asked  herself 
in  sobs,  — 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  done  —  what  have  I  done 
that  I  should  be  brought  down  to  this?  Do  I 
deserve  this  fate?  Dear  Boston — civilization  — 
decency  —  shall  I  ever  see  you  again  ?  Or  any  of 
you  ?  Oh  home  —  home  —  home  —  is  there  any 
home  in  the  wide  world  for  poor  me  !" 

When  her  paroxysm  of  homesickness  had  some 
what  spent  itself,  though  her  face  was  still  all  dis 
torted  with  tears,  shed  and  unshed,  she  heard  a 
knock  at  the  door.  There  flashed  across  her  a 
wild  wish  that  she  had  committed  some  heinous 
crime  in  Boston,  and  that  this  was  a  summons  to 
return  there  and  be  tried  for  her  life.  Next  fol 
lowed  the  more  rational  thought  that  the  knock 
probably  came  from  some  scholar  returning  to  get 
a  book  or  ask  a  question. 

She  opened  the  door  :  there  stood  Mr.  Prouder  ! 
She  was  so  glad  to  see  his  strong,  friendly,  smiling 
face  that  she  almost  forgot  to  care  for  her  appear 
ance  ;  but  it  did  not  matter  ;  helplessness  was 
much  more  likely  to  appeal  to  Zury  than  good 
looks. 

"  Haowdy,  haowdy,  Miss  Sparrer.  Why,  bless 
my  soul  V  body !  Yer  eyes  looks  like  tew  hoels 
burnt  in  a  blankit !  Ye  be'n  a-cryin'  ?  The' 
hain't  be'n  a-lickin'  yew,  hev  the'  ?  " 

"  Worse,  if  anything  I  "  (Her  sobs  broke  out 
afresh  at  the  bitter  memory.)  "  They  abused  me, 
and  disobeyed  me,  and  la-fa-la-laughed  at  me  !  " 

"  Oh  laws  a  massy  ;  don't  ye  let  that  faze  ye, 


164  ZURY. 

not  a  mite !  Larfed  at  ye,  did  the'  ?  Wai,  jest 
yew  larf  back  at  'em  !  I  '11  bet  the'  wuz  full  as 
ludickerous  ez  yew  be  —  mebbe  more  so  —  least 
ways  in  some  things.  'Course  some  o'  yer  high-up 
scollops  took  daown  offen  th'  top  shelf  way  back 
—  pronouncin'  yer  words  so  carefle,  weariif  yer 
Sunday  clo's  a  week  days,  V  so  f  rth  — dooz  make 
most  folks  larf  wunst  in  a  while.  But  then  — 
ye  '11  git  all  over  them  p'oooFarities  arter  a  bit." 

"  Oh  no-no-no !  "  said  she,  shuddering  at  the 
thought  of  ever  growing  to  be  like  these  animals. 

"  Oh  yes  ye  will,  tew  !  Don't  ye  be  discour- 
idged !  I've  saw  it  lots  o'  times!  Ye '11  be  all 
right  shortly.  The'  use'  ter  Lev  a  verse  o'  po'try 
when  I  went  t'  scule  :  — 

'  Scoldin'  don't  hurt  none, 
Whippin'  don't  last  long, 
Kill  me  you  daresent.' 

Wai,  naow,  larfin  don't  hurt  none,  ner  last  long, 
ner  kill  nobody.  Come  along;  git  right  in  th' 
wngin  V  I  '11  tote  ye  home ;  'n'  ye  kin  tell  me  all 
abaout  it,  a-goin\  Ye  know  ye  got  me  t'  back 
yer  —  th'  meanest  man  in  Spring  Caounty  t'  try 
t'  git  ahead  of  !  Ye  '11  fergit  all  these  yer  leetle 
teo-stubbin's  in  three  shakes  of  a  lamb's  tail." 

She  felt  better  already,  and  after  a  few  little 
touches  of  brightening  up  she  jumped  into  the 
wagon,  —  putting  her  hand  in  his  and  her  foot 
on  the  hub,  the  tire,  the  side,  the  seat,  and  in,  — 
and  they  drove  homeward.  Znry  listened  with 
sympathetic  gravity  and  silence  as  she  poured  out 
the  story  of  her  woeful  experiences,  encouraging 


CO  MM  ON-LA  W  MA  RRIA  GE.  165 

her  to  go  into  all  its  details,  driving  slow  so 
as  to  give  her  ample  time,  and  making  no  sign  to 
indicate  whether  he  considered  the  day  a  catas 
trophe,  defeat  her  achievement,  disgrace  and  con 
tumely  her  future  lot  in  life,  —  or  otherwise.  His 
reserve  puzzled  and  frightened  her. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Prouder,  why  don't  you  say  some 
thing  ?  " 

"  Hev  ye  got  threw  ?  " 

«  Why  —  yes,  I  think  so." 

"Noth'n'furder?" 

"  Not  a  thing." 

"  Sure  enough  ?  " 

"  Yes  -yes  -yes  !  Don't  ask  me  that  again, 
please ! " 

Then  he  broke  into  laughter  that  made  the  tall 
woods  ring. 

"  Why,  I  did  n't  think  you  would  laugh  at  me, 
too  ! '  And  the  ready  kerchief  sprang  to  her  eyes 
again. 

"  Who,  me  ?  Why,  I  can't  help  a-larfin'  when  I 
see  haow  blind  ye  be  !  Don't  ye  see  we  've  got 
'em  ?  It 's  all  plain  sailin'  from  this  on  !  Ye  've 
beat  'em  aouter  the'r  boots  !  " 

"  Why  —  how ?     I  think  they've  beaten  me." 

"  Don't  ye  fool  yerself,  not  a  cent's  wuth ! 
Ye  're  a  reg'lar  Salem  witch  !  Ye  've  took  all 
Deestrick  Number  Seven  right  daown — greased 
it,  pinned  its  ears  back,  and  swallered  it  hull !  " 

u  Why,  of  course  John  Felser's  family  and  all 
their  friends  will  be  set  against  me  !  I  shall  think 
I  see  an  enemy  every  time  I  meet  man,  woman, 
or  child  ! " 


166  ZURY. 

"  John  Felser's  fiddle-sticks  !  He  hain't  got 
no  family.  Lucky  fer  him,  tew :  ef  he  hed  a 
decent  father  he  'd  git  laced  with  a  hickory  saplin' 
till  he  could  n't  wiggle.  Ef  Sile  hed  n't  a  g'in  it 
tew  him,  I  'd  a  done  it  m'self  !  Him  t'  up  'n'  try 
his  tricks  on  yew  !  A  limb  's  he  is  !  " 

"  Oh,  if  he  would  only  stay  away  !  But  I  sup 
pose  every  one  has  equal  rights  in  a  public  school." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  That 's  th'  big  holt  ye  've 
got  on  'em  :  it 's  a  free  gift,  'n'  the  scule  board  kin 
bar  aout  sech  as  can't  behave.  'N'  the'  '11  dew  it 
tew,  naow  the'  see  't  ye  've  made  th'  thing  work. 
Ye  've  redeemed  the  deestrick.  Yewr  scule  's 
th'  fust  one  as  hez  gi'n  us  a  speck  o'  hope  fer  a 
coon's  age.  John  Felser  wuz  th'  wust,  but  he 
hed  a  heap  o'  follerin'  till  naow  :  'n'  here  ye  be, 
boss  of  'em  all !  " 

"  Well,  I  'hi  glad  to  hear  such  good  news.  If 
I  had  known  all  I  was  undertaking,  I  should  not 
have  ventured  to  make  the  experiment." 

"  'Course  ye  would  n't.  Thet  's  why  I  kep' 
mum,  'n'  told  th'  folks  not  t'  let  on  abaout  it, 
nuther  !  " 

"  Do  you  really  think  it  is  all  right? " 

"  Surely  !  Like  's  not  ye  '11  find  some  o'  th'  big 
gals  thai-  by  seven  in  th'  morn'n'  ;  cleanin'  things 
up  fer  ye,  'n'  puttin'  flowers  on  th'  stove,  'n'  yer 
desk,  'n'  one  thing  another.  By  this  time  it 's  got 
all  over  th?  deestrick  haow  ye  tuck  yer  stan'  'n' 
stuck  right  up  tew  it  —  got  the  scholars  all  on  yer 
side  but  one,  'n'  got  him  licked  like  sixty,  'thaout 
ever  a-raisin'  yer  han'  t'  strike,  ner  yer  voice  t' 


COMMON-LAW  MARRIAGE.  167 

quar'l.  Oh,  yew  '11  dew !  I  guessed  's  much 
fust  time  I  set  eyes  on  ye." 

"  Well,  I  feel  better !  Do  you  know,  Mr. 
Prouder,  you  've  saved  me  from  failure  again  ?  I 
should  have  failed  in  getting  the  place  if  it  had 
not  been  for  you  ;  and  to-day,  before  I  saw  you,  I 
was  ready  to  resolve  never,  never,  never  to  enter 
that  school-house  again  !  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  pleased  smile  so  long 
that  she  felt  her  face  flushing  and  turned  away. 
Then  he  hurried  his  horses  and  drove  home. 

Prouder's  prophecy  turned  out,  of  course,  cor 
rect,  down  to  its  minutest  details  —  the  public 
sentiment  —  the  brooms  —  the  flowers :  blue  gen 
tians  from  the  prairie  and  flaming  tiger-lilies  from 
the  woods. 

On  the  first  Saturday  holiday  Anne  went  to 
Wayback  "  to  look  for  letters."  She  had  a  charm 
ing  ride  over  on  a  slow  and  comfortable  horse, 
and  found  there  Squire  Brown,  lawyer,  postmas 
ter,  and  justice  of  the  peace. 

" Haowdy,  Miss  Sparrer !     Wun't  ye  'light? " 

"  Yes,  thank  you.  I  '11  sit  down  and  rest  a 
while,  and  take  a  glass  of  water,  please." 

Then,  after  the  usual  commonplaces  on  weather, 
health,  et  cetera,  she  said,  — 

"  You  are  one  of  the  school  board,  I  believe, 
Squire." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Sparrer :  'n'  I  'm  glad  t'  hear  ye 
're  a-gittin'  things  in  shape  there.  I  expect  ye 
hed  it  hot  fer  a  while,  by  what  I  hear !  But  ye 


108  ZURY. 

jest  reached  fer  'em  V  gethered  'em  in  !  Ye  've 
got  yer  papers  all  fixed  I  expect  ?  " 

"  Well  —  no :  to  tell  you  the  truth  I  was  so 
taken  aback  at  all  those  questions  that  I  rebelled 
against  answering  them.  Birthplace  —  age  — 
I  don't  what  all !  " 

"Name,  birthplace,  sex,  age,  married  or  sin- 
gle"- 

"  Yes !  there  now ;  the  marriage  laws  of  some 
States  are  so  different  from  those  of  others  that  a 
man  might  call  himself  married  when  in  fact  ac 
cording  to  the  law  of  Illinois  he  is  single  !  " 

"Oh,  as  t'  that,  the  laws  here  abaout  marr'in'  's 
pootty  simple." 

"  How  do  you  mean  simple  ?  " 

"  Ye  jest  come  t'  me  when  ye  wanter  git  mar- 
r'd  V  I  '11  tell  ye  all  ye  need  t'  know.  'N'  I  jedge 
it  won't  be  long,  nuther,  he-he  !  " 

"When  I  want  to  marry?  Don't  all  women 
always  want  to  marry  ?  I  want  to  marry  now  — 
only  I  don't  know  any  man  in  the  world  I  would 
have  !  Tell  me  now  when  there  is  n't  anybody ; 
because  if  there  ever  should  be  anybody  —  which 
I  don't  expect  —  I  shall  be  too  bashful !  " 

"  Oh,  ye  want  t'  be  forehanded,  dew  ye  ?  Wai : 
any  jestice  o'  th'  peace,  magistrate,  or  minister  o' 
the  gospel  in  charge  of — any  ministerial  charge 
—  can  marry  ye  by  any  form  of  words  th't  gives 
evidence  of  present  consent  'n'  futur  intention  on 
both  sides." 

"  Justice  of  the  peace,  magistrate,  or  clergy 
man  !  No  one  else  ?  " 


COMMON-LA  W  MA RRIA  GE.  169 

"  No,  nobody  else.  If  anybody  else  pertends 
t'  marry  yer  he  kin  be  punished —  though  even 
then  if  ye  live  together  as  man  V  wife  the  mar- 
r'ge  is  good.  The  husband  'n'  wife  ain't  pun 
ished  —  only  so  fur 's  they  torment  one  another, 
's  a  matter  of  course." 

"So  that's  the  only  kind  of  marriage  recog 
nized  in  Illinois,  is  it?  " 

"  No,  I  can't  say  exactly  that.  Thar  's  what 's 
called  a  common  -  law  marr'ge.  If  a  man  'n' 
woman,  of  lawfle  age,  'n'  unmarried,  says  by  pres 
ent  words  that  the'  then  'n'  there  marry  each 
other  fer  good  'n'  all,  —  not  future  words  th't 
they  're  ft-gain*  t'  be  man  'n'  wife,  y'  understand,  — 
'n'  then  the'  afterwards  live  together  publicly  as 
sech,  why,  they  're  married,  hard  and  fast." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  There  must  be  the  words  of  mar 
riage,  and  the  living  together,  both  to  make  that 
kind  of  marriage,  must  there  ?  Either  without 
the  other  "  — 

"  Ain't  no  arthly  accaount." 

"  Well,  I  will  never  be  married  by  anybody 
but  a  justice  of  the  peace,  Squire  Brown ;  and  if 
I  have  much  influence  in  the  matter,  you  shall  be 
the  man." 

"  Thankee,  thankee,  Miss  Sparrer.  Which 
man  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  won't  say  which  —  certainly  not  till 
I  'm  asked." 

All  this  gay  talk  was  of  course  duly  detailed  to 
Prouder,  when  he  and  Brown  next  met,  as  a  new 
illustration  of  the  brilliancy  of  the  wonderful 


170  ZURY. 

young  stranger,  who  was,  by  the  way,  a  universal 
and  inexhaustible  subject  of  talk.  Prouder  lis 
tened  with  much  interest,  made  no  remarks,  but 
cogitated  long  about  the  matter. 

As  soon  as  Anne  got  back  to  the  farm-house 
she  filled  out  the  rest  of  the  unfinished  document, 
:md  at  the  first  opportunity  handed  it  to  Zury. 

"  Not  married,  hey  ?  Well,  at  your  age  I 
should  n't  a  thought  ye  'd  a  ben  afraid  t'  own  it. 
Y'  ain't  hardly  begun  t'  be  an  ol'  maid  yit !  " 

Anne's  talk  with  Semantha  gave  her  a  new 
interest  in  Zury,  and  she  studied  him  more  than 
ever.  Still  keeping  in  mind  her  innocent  scheme 
of  making  her  home  permanent  with  the  Prouders 
instead  of  transitory  with  unknown  Toms,  Dicks, 
and  Harrys,  she  took  careful  and  constant  heed 
against  all  possible  tendency,  on  her  own  part  or 
on  his,  to  any  intimacy  other  than  such  as  might 
arise  between  them  from  her  position  as  his  wife's 
friend.  This  took  more  than  a  little  care,  for  she 
was  quite  a  novelty  to  Zury.  Not  even  the  young 
women  whom  he  had  seen  in  cities  during  his 
business  wanderings  had  ever  seemed  to  him  so 
attractive,  so  interesting,  so  amusing.  As  to  her 
good  looks,  they  doubtless  had  their  effect  on  him, 
though  he  was  quite  unconscious  of  it,  having 
never  in  his  life  thought  of  womanly  beauty  ex 
cept  as  "  a  snare." 

She  maintained  her  untrammeled  relations 
with  the  family  in  another  way,  too.  Thus: 
John  Endicott  McVey  took  occasion  on  two  Sun 
day  evenings  to  call  on  her,  dressed  in  Boston 


COMMON-LA  W  MARRIA  GE.  171 

clothes,  and  using  pure  Boston-i-a-n  language,  and 
she  really  made  the  most  of  him  ;  concealing  the 
fact  that  he  struck  her  as  very  light  and  useless 
timber  —  "  dozy"  or  "  brashy  "  as  Zury  would 
have  characterized  it.  On  the  second  evening  he 
proposed  marriage,  and  she  was  good  enough  to 
decline  it,  not  as  a  glaringly  absurd  joke,  but 
merely  as  a  proposition,  reasonable  from  his  point 
of  view,  though  quite  out  of  the  question  from 
hers.  He  was,  after  all,  the  most  presentable 
and  available  man  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
she  grew  to  like  him  for  his  pronunciation  of 
words,  though  the  words  were  not  worth  pro 
nouncing. 

The  school  went  on  prosperously.  The  most 
unruly  boys  became  suddenly  the  teacher's  most 
loyal  adherents.  Silas  was  her  "  secular  arm  "  to 
quell  the  last  remnant  of  rebellion,  after  which 
consummation  Anne  had  a  fine  chance  to  make 
peace  and  inculcate  order.  One  boy,  inherently 
vicious  and  dangerous  to  the  delicacy  of  the  girl- 
scholars,  was  scared  nearly  out  of  his  wits  by  a 
word  in  his  ear  from  the  terrible  Zury  Prouder. 
(Teachers  of  mixed  schools  should  always  be 
women,  so  that  the  girls  can  have  near  them  the 
friendly  ear  and  voice  of  one  of  their  own  sex.) 

The  first  two  weeks  at  the  Prouder  domicile 
were  about  as  Anne  had  expected,  except  that 
she  did  not  get  quite  so  intimate  with  Mrs. 
Prouder  as  she  had  hoped  to  be.  Not  quite  the 
hoped-for  cordiality  in  receiving  as  well  as  in 
rendering  services  was  manifested  by  the  poor, 


172  ZffRY. 

sighing  woman.  When  Anne  had  proposed  read 
ing  aloud  as  an  attention  which  might  alleviate 
the  weariness  of  work  in  which  she  was  not  al 
lowed  to  join,  and  a  half-and-half  consent  was 
obtained,  she  found  that  it  was  "a  chapter"  that 
was  both  desired  and  expected.  She  knew,  as 
well  as  she  knew  her  existence,  that  her  society 
and  suggestive  talk,  in  that  dull,  rich  house,  was 
worth  more  than  any  luxury  their  money  had 
ever  purchased  them  or  ever  could  —  let  alone 
the  imperceptible  cost  of  her  food  and  shelter. 

So  she  listened  with  smiling  confidence  when 
Zury  opened  the  subject. 

"  Wai,  Miss  Sparrer !  Our  tew  weeks  ends  to 
rn  or  rer  ! " 

"  Why,  so  it  does !  How  the  time  has  flown 
by  !  It  seems  only  a  day  or  two  since  I  first 
darkened  your  hospitable  doors." 

"  I  've  ben  a-thinkin'  haow  t'  'range  things  t' 
suit  yer  best." 

Now  it 's  coming,  thought  she. 

"  'N'  I  guess  I  Ve  fixed  it  abaout  right  fer  all 
hands." 

She  quietly  composed  her  little  speech  of  thanks 
for  an  invitation  to  stay  on  indefinitely,  accepting 
on  condition  that  she  should  be  allowed  to  do  her 
share  of  the  work. 

"  To-morrer  I  '11  take  ye  over  t'  brother  Brom- 
well's.  Ye  know  him  pus'nally  a'ready,  'n'  ye  '11 
find  his  folks  all  O.  K.  Right  up-an'-a-comin' 
all  the  time." 

Would  that  ringing  in  her  ears  go  on  growing 


COMMON-LA  W  MA REIA  GE.  173 

worse  till  she  fell  forward  ?  There,  now  it  was 
getting  better:  but  now  —  would  those  tears  per 
sist  and  push  clear  out,  or  could  she  quell  them 
by  swallowing  rapidly  ?  No  use !  There  they 
come.  If  they  had  not  come,  the  other,  the  faint- 
ness,  would  have  prevailed.  So  it  was  as  well  — 
the  least  of  two  evils. 

After  all  her  efforts  —  all  her  hopes  !  She  had 
failed.  She  always  failed.  She  always  must 
fail.  Nobody  loved  her.  Nobody  ever  did  or 
ever  could.  Of  course  not.  She  was  a  fool  to 
think  otherwise  even  for  a  moment. 

"  Why  —  Miss  Sparrer  —  be  ye  sick  ?  Don't 
ye  like  what  I  Ve  be'n  'n'  gone  'n'  done  ?  Ye 
don't  bear  no  ill-will  agin  Bromwell,  dew  ye? 
He  meant  all  fer  th'  best,  'n'  '11  be  a  good  friend 
t'  ye  when  he  knows  ye  's  well  's  we  dew.  Best 
thing  y'  kin  dew  to  git  the  whole  deestrick  on  yer 
side  is  t'  go  'n'  board  t'  every  haouse  in  it." 

Well!  That  was  balm!  But  if  he  thought 
so,  why  did  he  let  her  go  ?  Why  did  not  he  say, 
"  I  've  plenty  of  everything  except  what  you  Ve 
plenty  of.  Now  just  stay  right  on  with  my  wife, 
and  the  obligation  will  be  mutual?"  But  as  he 
did  not  she  must  say  something. 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  my  ways,  Mr.  Prouder ;  I  get 
a  little  lonesome  and  homesick  sometimes  —  and 
foolish  —  that's  all.  But  T  get  over  it  at  once." 
Whereupon  her  words  were  belied  by  a  new  flood 
of  tears  and  sobs.  The  tide  swelled  afresh  and 
ran  over  again  and  again,  while  Zury  looked  on 
in  wondering,  half-comprehending  pity  and  sym- 


174  ZURY. 

pathy.  He  never  could  have  imagined  that  the 
love  of  such  dull  beings  as  Mary  and  Semantha 
could  be  longed  for  by  the  brilliant  city  girl.  So 
little  did  he  know  of  women's  hearts!  After 
a  puzzled  silence  he  broke  out :  — 

"  What  an  old  dromedary  I  be  !  Mebbe  ye  'd 
like  t'  hev  me  go,  'n'  them  come  V  talk  t'  ye  a 
spell,"  and  he  started  to  bring  the  others. 

44  Oh,  no  —  no  !  Do  you  think  they  could  have 
heard  my  foolishness  ?  " 

"  No  —  I  reck'n  not  —  they  're  both  in  the 
kitchen  "  — -  and  he  listened  —  "  Semanthy  she 's 
a-singin',  so  likely  they  could  n't  hear." 

Anne  listened,  too,  and  easily  recognized  the 
high,  nasal  treble  of  the  minstrel,  drawling  her 
one  ditty ;  the  only  poetry  she  knew  except 
Watts's  hymns. 

As  Prouder  said  to  his  wife  when,  later,  he*  was 
relating  the  circumstance  of  Anne's  outburst :  — 

"  Doggone  me  ef  I  did  n't  think,  one  spell,  'a 
haow  she  wuz  sorry  t'  leave  us  !  " 

He  privately  dwelt  on  the  subject  a  good  deal. 
In  fact,  if  he  had  been  a  self-observant  man  he 
would  have  noticed  that  his  thoughts  were  very 
much  in  the  habit  of  dwelling  upon  Anne  Spar 
row. 

Here  is  the  cheerful  song  Semantha  sang  as  a 
lightener  of  toil ;  or  a  pious  exercise  ;  or  as  a  trib 
ute  to  poetry  and  music  ;  or  —  anything  else :  — 

A  story  I  will  now  relate. 

'T  was  of  a  gal  named  Polly  Bates ; 


COMMON-LA  W  MARRIA  GE.  1 75 

She  'd  dress  up  fine  and  curl  her  hair, 
When  others  was  ingaged  in  prayer. 

She  'd  go  to  balls,  she  'd  dance  and  play 
In  spite  of  all  her  friends  could  say  : 
"  I  '11  turn  to  God  when  I  grow  old 
And  then  he  will  receive  my  soul." 

One  Friday  morning  she  fell  sick. 
Her  stubborn  heart  begun  to  prick. 
She  now  was  sorry  she  done  wrong, 
But  had  put  off  the  day  too  long. 

She  called  her  father  to  her  bed. 
Her  eyes  was  rolling  in  her  head. 
"  Oh  father,  father,  fare  you  well 
While  wretched  Polly  groans  in  hell. 

"  Oh  mother,  mother,  you  I  leave. 
For  wretched  Polly  do  not  grieve. 
As  I  am  now  you  soon  shall  be. 
Prepare  for  death  and  follow  me." 

Her  face  grew  black,  her  hands  grew  cold. 
Her  spirit  left  its  earthly  mould. 
Now  all  young  friends  a  warning  take, 
And  quit  your  sins  for  Polly's  sake. 


CHAPTER  X. 

HOW  FARES   THE   TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER? 

NEXT  day,  when  Prouder  was  driving  over  to 
Bromwell's  with  Anne  and  her  trunk,  she  asked,  — 

"  Where  do  I  go  next,  after  brother  Bromwell's, 
Mr.  Prouder?" 

"  Wai,  brother  Peddicomb,  he  'llaows  t'  begin 
t'  kill  in  abaout  tew  weeks  —  so  thet  '11  make  a 
month,  t'gether  with  Bromwell's;  V  then  brother 
Anstey,  he  thinks  he  '11  be  'baout  ready  t'  kill  — 
ef  he  ain't  quite  ready,  brother  Peddicomb  he  '11 
lend  him  some  of  his  meat." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Prouder,  I  can't  bear  it! " 

"What  — pork?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  but  this  dreadful  boarding  'round." 

"Sho!  Dew  tell!  I  wanter  know!  Why, 
most  young  sculemoms  they  likes  it,  'n'  sez  it 's 
like  a  reg'lar  raound  o'  visits  —  jest  a  reg'lar  wed- 
din'  trip,  only  no  husban' ;  'n'  's  they  say  all  the 
better  on  that  account,  but  you  'n'  me  knows  't 
sech  talk  's  that  fr'm  young  gals  's  t'  be  took  by 
contrairies." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  live  at  the  school-house." 

"  Wai,  it 's  big  enough,  goodness  knows.  Mc- 
Vey  he  'd  like  t'  have  ye  come  'n'  board  't  th' 
tahv'rn,  I  guess." 


THE  TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.       177 

Anne  laughed. 

44  'N'  go  through  a  leetle  ceremony  fust  off,  t' 
simplify  matters." 

"  That  would  be  too  long  a  contract  on  too  short 
notice.  But  now  you  are  the  great  fixer  of  things 
—  you  fix  things  so  I  can  live  at  the  school-house." 

This  compliment  put  Zury  on  his  mettle,  and 
he  at  once  slowed  up  the  team  to  give  them  more 


time  to  cogitate. 


44  Lessee-lessee  —  fust  thing  is  room  ;  nex'  thing 
is  furniture,  nex'  thing  is  food,  'n'  nex'  thing  is 
company.  I  am  a-needin'  a  new  p'tition  in  th' 
barn."  * 

"  I  don't  see  how  your  needing  the  same  thing 
I  do  is  going  to  help  me,  unless  you  get  the  par 
tition  and  I  come  and  steal  it  away  some  night." 

44  Ha-ha  !  yes,  you  'd  be  a  dreffle  burglar  t'  meet 
on  a  dark  night !  But  my  p'tition  'd  make  abaout 
three  quarters  of  a  scaow-load,  'n'  your  stuff  'd 
make  th'  other  quarter,  so  we  c'd  git  it  pootty 
cheap  from  daown  river."  (There  was  a  delin 
quent  saw-miller  there  who  owed  him  money.) 

44  How  cheap  ?  " 

44  Wai,  the  p'tition  complete  'd  cost  abaout  thir 
teen  dollars,  —  all  in." 

44  Oh,  I  could  n't  stand  that !  " 

44  Wai,  naow,  look  h'yer ;  ortent  the  deestrick 
t'  have  a  room  thar  anyhaow,  t'  keep  records  'n' 
books  'n'  papers  in,  'n'  t'  hold  board  meetin's  in, 
'n'  sech  like  ?  " 

44  But  that  would  raise  your  school-tax." 

44  Never  ye  mind  that.     Ther's  money  in  the 


178  ZURY. 

treasury,  V  this  'd  be  construction,  V  c'd  come 
aouter  th'  fuud  made  by  the  sale  of  th'  scule- 
section  of  land."  (Zury  wanted  to  save  that  saw 
mill  debt.)  "  Naow,  ye  're  goin'  t'  stop  with  Brom- 
well  'n'  Peddicomb  ;  'n'  o'  man  Anstey  '11  be  on 
aour  side  anyhaow.  Ef  yew  can't  fetch  them 
other  tew  galoots  'raound  in  a  month,  y'  ain't  the 
gal  I  take  ye  fer  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  flatter  me !  Now,  how  about  fur 
niture  ?  " 

"  Wai,  I  've  got  a  leetle  lot  stored  t'  Wayback 
't  I  took  on  a  chattle  mortgidge  from  a  feller  't 
tried  t'  cl'ar  aout  with  it.  I'll  let  ye  have  it  at 
half  what  it  'd  cost  ye."  (So  he  did  ;  being  twice 
what  it  had  cost  him.)  "  Only  by  bad  luck  there 's 
two  beds." 

"  Bad  luck  ?  Good  luck  !  I  think  of  providing 
food  and  company  at  one  blow.  The  big  girls 
can  come  and  visit  me  week  and  week  about,  and 
bring  me  food  from  their  houses,  the  same  as  if  I 
were  boarding  around  with  them." 

"  That 's  business  !  " 

"  But  how  about  fuel?" 

"  What,  firewood  ?  Oh,  the'  's  plenty  of  that 
daown  in  this  h'yer  wooden  country.  Several 
pays  their  school-tax  in  firewood." 

"  Then  —  Oh,  dear  me  !  is  it  all  right?  Have 
I  a  home?"  And  she  proceeded  to  sing  "  'Mid 
pleasures  and  palaces  "  in  her  treble  voice,  and 
the  "charm  from  the  skies"  seemed  to  soar  away 
back  to  the  skies  it  came  from.  When  she  had 
done  one  stanza  she  whistled  it  all  through  as  an 


THE   TRANSPLANTED   MAYFLOWER.      179 

interlude  before  she  sang  the  next.  Could  this 
be  the  same  girl  who  had  cried  herself  half  sick 
the  night  before  ? 

44  Look  aout,  Miss  Sparrer,  — 

'  Whistlin'  gals,  V  crowin'  hens, 
Oilers  comes  t'  some  bad  ends.'  " 

"No,  Mr.  Prouder,  you  've  got  it  wrong, — 
'  Girls  that  whistle,  V  hens  that  crow, 
Take  their  comfort  as  they  go.' " 

44  He-he  !  I  never  heered  that  before  !  What  I 
have  heered  is,  — 

'  Whistlin'  gals,  V  good  fat  sheep 
Is  the  very  best  stock  fer  a  farmer  t'  keep.' 

An*  I  hev  n't  got  none  o'  them  nuther,  'xcep'  the 
sheep." 

44  No!     And  it 's  too  bad  !" 
44 1  wish  I  had  one  —  jest  like  yew  !  " 
44 1  'd  be  a  trifle  old  for  you  —  but  still !  " 
44  Not   a   mite   tew   old   fer   a   darter.      Ye 're 
younger  'n  many  a  gal  o'  half  yer  age !     Not  tew 
old  fer  a  darter,  ner  yit  tew  young  fer  —  suth'n 
else,  ef  I  wuz  a  single  man !  " 

44  Well,  just  please  remember  that  you  're  not," 
and  she  reddened  under  his  gaze. 

44  Wai !     H'yer  we  be  to  brother  Bromwell's. 
Don't  ferget  ye  've  got  some  'lectioneerin'  t'  dew ! " 
44  No  danger." 

We  will  skip  Anne's  stay  with  the  Bromwells 
and  the  Peddicombs.  At  each  place,  for  various 
reasons,  she  had  more  success  than  with  the  Proud- 
ers.  One  reason  was  this,  she  did  not  try  so  hard: 
she  was  more  reserved ;  listened  more,  and  talked 


180  ZURY. 

less  ;  in  short,  did  not  "  slop  over,"  as  the  expres 
sive  Western  phrase  is.  Both  these  men  were 
farmers  of  the  same  grade  as  Zury  Prouder ;  not 
as  rich,  but  quite  as  comfortable,  and  possessing 
a  little  more  pretension  to  cultivation  and  en 
lightened  comfort.  They  enjoyed  showing  Anne 
the  difference  between  them  and  the  Prouders. 

Now  behold  her,  singing  and  whistling  "  Home, 
Sweet  Home,"  in  her  own  little  board  palace,  par 
titioned  off  within  the  walls  of  the  school-house. 
This  was  a  happy  habitation,  in  spite  of  some  dis 
advantages.  She  was  compelled,  of  course,  to  leave 
it  often  alone  ;  and  not  being  an  experienced  hand 
at  "  kiverin'  fire,"  she  sometimes  found  the  vestal 
flame  on  her  home  altar  extinguished  on  her  return 
to  it.  Then  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  run 
all  the  way  to  the  Ansteys  for  a  burning  brand. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Anstey  !     Please  lend  me  a  little  fire." 

"  Surelye,  if  ye  '11  fetch  it  back  when  ye  're 
done  with  it." 

"  Oh,  I  always  pay  my  debts,  with  interest ;  but 
my  creditors  must  come  and  ask  for  what  they 
want.  I  don't  follow  them  about  to  get  square 
with  them.  You  can  come  over  and  warm  your 
self  by  my  fire  sufficiently  to  pay  for  this  when 
ever  you  like." 

So  the  gay  girl  would  trip  away  with  her  burn 
ing  brand,  waving  and  managing  it  to  retain  the 
fire,  and  yet  not  let  it  creep  up  so  far  as  to  burn 
her  fingers,  making  a  subject  almost  well  worthy 
to  be  painted  if  there  had  only  been  some  artist 
to  observe  it.  But  there  was  not. 


THE    TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.      181 

Reekie  Anstey  was  her  first  room-mate,  as  it 
was  to  the  Ansteys  she  was  to  have  gone  next. 
And  oh,  such  a  wondering  and  adoring  companion ! 
The  first  of  a  long  series  of  similar  visitors.  As 
long  as  Anne  kept  up  this  residence  did  she  have 
one  or  other  of  the  larger  girls  to  sleep  there,  each 
enjoying  the  privilege  for  two  weeks  at  a  time, 
and  vying  with  the  others  in  the  supplies  brought 
to  their  lady-mistress.  None  so  dull  as  not  to 
appreciate  the  occasion.  Then,  for  once  in  their 
lives,  did  they  learn  how  a  lady  conducts  herself 
at  two  important  times  in  her  day,  —  when  she 
goes  to  bed,  and  when  she  gets  up.  Five  occa 
sions,  perhaps,  would  be  more  accurate,  for  the 
three  meals  were  almost  equally  instructive. 

For  a  long  time  were  these  visits  looked  for 
ward  to  by  the  eager  lasses,  and  for  a  longer  — 
lifelong  —  looked  back  upon.  Teacher  and  scholar 
had  much  freedom  in  the  day-time,  each  visiting 
and  receiving  visits  at  will.  Only  one  thing  was 
exacted  as  an  invariable  rule,  —  that  Anne  must 
never  for  an  instant,  at  home  or  abroad,  asleep  or 
awake,  be  left  alone  between  sunset  and  sunrise. 

While  the  changed  life  was  a  novelty,  Anne 
enjoyed  it  greatly.  The  freedom  was  so  perfect: 
nature  (under  proper  restrictions)  so  lovely ! 
Above  all,  the  children  were  so  fond  of  her,  and 
her  sense  of  usefulness  so  gratifying !  Almost 
soul-satisfying !  The  summer  gave  place  to 
autumn,  and  she  taught  her  great  girls, — 

"  The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the  year, 
Of  wailing  winds  and  naked  woods,  and  meadows  brown  and 
sere. 


182  ZURY. 

Heaped  in  the  hollows  of  the  grove  the  autumn  leaves  lie  dead  : 
They  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust  and  to  the  rabbit's  tread." 

Then,  when  (after  the  early  frosts)  fell  the 
sweet,  lingering  "Indian  Summer,"  she  taught 
them,  — 

"  Arid  now  when  comes  the  calm  mild  day,  as  still  such  days  will 

come, 

To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their  winter  home; 
The  south  wind  searches  for  the  flowers  whose  fragrance  late 

he  bore, 
And  sighs  to  find   them   in   the  wood  and  by  the  stream   no 

more." 

Some  of  those  children  felt  as  if  a  window  had 
opened  in  heaven  and  they  had  received  a  new 
revelation,  where  Poetry  dawned  upon  them  like  a 
planet  sailing  into  the  field  of  a  telescope. 

Even  winter  did  not  daunt  her.  The  roar  of  a 
black  storm  through  the  treetops  was  awful ;  but 
inside,  the  lamp  burned  bright.  Zero  sunshine 
was  pale  as  death,  but  she  kept  warmth  and 
cheer  about  her.  The  exhilarating  quality  of  the 
thin  air  was  a  constant  tonic.  Let  us  peep  in  on 
a  bitter  cold  morning  scene. 

"Why,  Eureka!"  (A  yawn.)  "  You  up  al 
ready?"  (Another.) 

u  Well,  yes,  Miss  Sparrow.  It  must  be  con 
siderable  past  sun-up,  only  you  can't  see  much 
light  owin'  to  frost  on  the  winder  —  window  I 
mean.  An'  the  clock 's  froze  up,  an'  —  every  thin'." 

"Dear,  dear!  you'll  freeze,  too!  What  have 
you  on  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  all  right !  I  've  slipped  on  my  shoes, 
and  got  the  comforter  wropped  'raoun'  me." 


THE   TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.      183 

"  You  poor  girl !  Come  into  my  bed  and  let 
me  slip  on  my  —  things  and  make  that  fire.  Did 
it  keep  ?  I  covered  it  carefully !  " 

"  Oh  yes,  it 's  all  right ;  leastways  the1  's  enough 
t'  light  up  by,  an'  th'  boys'  whittling  fer  kindlin' 
come  in  awful  handy !  Thar,  —  hear  it  ?  "  And 
as  she  closed  the  stove  door  the  fire  began  suck 
ing  the  pure  oxygen  with  a  roar  like  a  steam-fan. 

"  How  is  the  water  ?  " 

"  Froze  solid  to  the  bottom  of  the  pail !  But  I 
emptied  all  the  pitchers  an'  things  last  night,  so 
the'  's  nothin'  busted.  Oh  dear !  I  set  the  milk- 
jug  on  the  hearth,  but  yet  it  's  froze  too.  But  I 
don't  see  as  it  *s  cracked.  I  '11  jest  leave  it  on  the 
hearth  whar  it  11  thor  gradial.  Thar  !  " 

"  Now  come  right  into  my  warm  nest  and  let 
me  cuddle  you  !  " 

"  Oh  no,  Miss  Sparrow  ;  I  'm  too  cold.  I  '11  go 
back  to  my  own  bed.  I  'd  freeze  you  to  death." 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you,  my  child !  Come  here  this 
minute  !  There  —  snuggle  up  —  oh  you  are  icy  !  " 
And  then  the  stove  (if  it  had  n't  been  talking  to 
itself  too  loud  to  hear  anything  else)  might  have 
listened  to  cooings  and  kissings  between  the  loving 
young  women  (clasped  and  interlaced  into  a  long, 
indistinguishable  mass)  that  would  have  warmed 
its  glowing  iron  heart  still  further,  if  anything 
could  do  so. 

"Oh— -what's  that?" 

"  Massyful  man  alive  —  it 's  the  milk !  It  must 
have  be'n  cracked  after  all !  " 

"  Well,  tea  is  pretty  good  without  milk." 


184  ZURY. 

"  But  let  me  git  up  and  wipe  it  up." 

"  No,  you  shan't  go  till  it  gets  warm." 

"  But  the  burnt  milk  '11  srnell  the  house  up  fer 
all  day !  " 

"  Well,  let  it.  It 's  a  clean  smell,  any  way." 
More  inarticulate  endearments. 

"  Now,  Miss  Sparrow  — jest  look  at  that  stove  ! 
Red  hot  on  the  top,  and  side,  and  back,  and  a  spot 
in  the  pipe !  Lemme  jest  git  up  V  shet  the 
damper,  V  set  on  the  kittle  !  " 

The  strong  and  perfect  girl  sprang  from  the 
bed  into  the  frosty  air  without  a  shudder :  slipped 
her  ill-shaped  shoes  on  her  well-shaped  feet,  and 
in  her  single  airy  garment,  white,  long,  straight, 
and  clinging  like  the  robes  of  Fra  Angelico's  an 
gels,  flew  hither  and  yon  on  her  well-known  tasks. 
Those  feet  would  do  for  a  sculptor's  model.  Go 
ing  barefoot,  as  a  child,  if  not  too  long  continued, 
and  on  too  severe  tasks,  gives  to  the  foot  a  fine 
set  of  curves,  strong  and  lithe.  Each  toe  grows 
to  maturity  perfect  and  separate  from  its  neigh 
bors,  having,  at  will,  a  life  and  motion  of  its  own. 
It  is  almost  as  different  from  more  civilized  toes 
as  a  fresh  grape  is  from  a  packed  raisin. 

The  lost  milk  was  soon  dried  up,  and  the  enthu 
siastic  stove,  when  its  supply  of  air  was  cut  off, 
squealed  and  complained  like  a  pig  driven  from 
its  dinner. 

Unhappily,  the  best  part  of  isolation  is  the 
beginning  of  it.  Anne's  grew  tiresome,  more 
and  more  so,  as  the  weeks  and  months  dragged 


THE  TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.      185 

slowly  by.  She  made  her  own  clothes ;  she 
washed,  starched,  and  ironed  for  herself  ;  she  did 
fancy  work ;  she  read  and  re-read  every  scrap  of 
printed  matter  she  could  get  at ;  she  drew  and 
sketched  a  great  number  of  scenes,  which  covered 
the  walls  of  her  private  domain,  and  even  spread 
out  into  the  great  school-room.  She  wrote  a 
good  deal :  in  fact,  it  may  be  said  in  strict  confi 
dence  that  this  book  would  never  have  been  writ 
ten  but  for  the  nucleus  of  material  created  by  her 
that  winter. 

She  saved  a  little  money  (almost  all  she  earned), 
which  Prouder  kept  for  her,  paying  her  ten  per 
cent,  interest,  while  he  lent  it  out  at  twenty. 

She  did  not  have  as  many  visits  as  she  would 
have  liked  from  the  mothers  of  her  scholars.  It 
is  such  a  task  to  get  through  work,  to  get  "  slicked 
up,"  to  get  away  from  home  three  or  four  miles, 
and  to  get  back  and  into  working  garb  in  time  for 
the  quickly  returning  household  cares,  that  coun 
try  wives  are  usually  steady  stay-at-homes.  Be 
sides,  among  her  friends'  homes  two  were  in  some 
confusion.  Peddicomb  had  died,  leaving  his  affairs 
"  kinder  mixed."  When  his  daughter  Semantha 
had  married,  her  father  had  "  set  off  "  her  portion 
to  her  (one  of  his  three  quarter  sections)  ;  her 
"  shiftless  "  husband  had  induced  her  to  mortgage 
it  (to  Prouder),  and  then  departed  to  look  for  a 
favorable  investment  for  the  proceeds.  He  prob 
ably  found  it,  for  he  never  came  back,  and  the 
quarter  section  fell  in  to  swell  Provider's  holdings  ; 
very  nicely,  too,  as  it  "  jined  on  "  to  the  one  set  off 


186  ZURY. 

to  Mary,  his  own  wife.  As  the  reader  has  learned, 
Semantha  and  her  child  now  lived  at  the  Provid 
ers'  ;  the  third  sister,  Flora,  still  stayed  at  home 
in  the  farm-house  on  the  remaining  "  quarter," 
managing  it  as  well  as  she  could. 

Mary  Prouder,  Zury's  wife,  had  departed  early 
in  autumn  on  a  visit  to  the  Peddicomb  ancestral 
halls  in  Ohio  in  search  of  health  and  strength, 
her  portion  of  which  blessings  had  dwindled  to  a 
minimum.  When  Anne  bade  her  good-by  she 
seemed,  with  her  hollow  cheeks,  her  prematurely 
aged  face,  and  her  "  Oh  Lordy,  Lordy  ! "  like  the 
rearguard  of  death  or  the  vanguard  of  the  resur 
rection.  The  few  letters  which  came,  at  first 
from  her  own  hand  and  later  from  the  hands  of 
others,  gave  Zury  but  poor  encouragement  to 
hope  for  her  recovery.  Already  people  (in  the 
meeting-house  horse-shed,  or  while  walking  and 
riding  home,  and  on  other  gossipy  occasions) 
had  begun  to  say,  — 

"  Would  n't  wonder  ef  Zury  had  a  good  sight 
t'  git  a-holt  on  t'  other  quarter  of  th'  Peddicomb 
place,  'thaout  it  a-costin'  him  a  cent,  barrin'  th' 
jestice  fee." 

It  was  customary  to  have  on  February  22d  a 
school  "  Exhibition  "  with  speeches,  dialogues,  and 
so  forth ;  and  Anne  conceived  the  daring  novelty 
of  "  A  Scene  from  New  England  History."  The 
scene  was  to  be  the  marriage  of  Priscilla  and 
John  Alden  —  she  to  be  the  fair  Puritan,  and  John 
Endicott  McVey  to  be  the  other  chief  performer. 
Her  deft  fingers  easily  arranged  the  costume  for 


THE   TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.      187 

herself;  and  John  (who  had  seen  it  enacted  "at 
home"),  by  the  aid  of  an  old  artillery  short-sword 
(a  relic  of  1812),  and  some  long,  woolen  stock 
ings,  managed  a  costume  sufficiently  unlike  any 
thing  the  West  had  ever  seen  (or  the  East,  North, 
or  South  either,  for  that  matter)  to  bear  a  possi 
ble  resemblance  to  the  actual  original.  If  he 
was  not  like  John  Alden,  what  was  he  like? 

When  all  was  arranged  Anne  was  startled  by 
a  serious  obstacle,  which  her  discreet  old  friend 
Mrs.  Anstey  revealed  to  her. 

"  Ye  dunno,  I  don't  mistrust,  thet  foolish  folks 
is  a-passin'  the'r  remarks  abaout  yer  a-bein'  a-goin' 
t'  stan'  up  with  Johnny  McVey  in  a  mock-mar- 
r'ge,  as  ye  might  say.1' 

"  Oh  pshaw !  McVey,  indeed !  Marriages  are 
often  displayed  in  theatres,  and  nobody  in  his 
senses  ever  takes  them  to  mean  anything  ! " 

"  Ya-as  —  but  then  ye  know  th'  school-haouse 
ain't  no  theayter ;  'n'  ef  it  wuz,  perfessin'  Chris 
tians,  in  course,  would  n't  never  go  inter  it,  ner 
nigh  tew  it,  nuther.  It's  a  meetin'-haouse,  —  a 
haouse  of  God  ;  'n'  marriages  a  many  he.z  be'n 
performed  thar  a'ready.  'N'  ef  yew  'n'  Johnny 
wuz  a-goin  t'  marry,  thar  's  whar  ye  'd  naytrally 
be,  'n'  sayin'  th'  same  words,  tew." 

Anne  with  difficulty  repressed  her  disgust  at 
such  childish  folly. 

"  'N'  then  the'  's  another  thing  :  both  on  ye 
bein'  single  'n'  marriageable  the'  's  them  as  sez  ye 
m ought  find  yerself  marr'd  t'  Johnny,  'thaout 
never  rnistrustin'  sech  a  thing  1 " 


188  ZURY. 

44  Heavens  and  earth !  Have  I  got  to  attend 
to  "  —  but  here  anger  was  reinforced  by  discre 
tion,  and  both  conspired  to  reduce  her  to  silence. 
She  bade  Mrs.  Anstey  good-by  with  flaming 
cheeks,  brow,  and  temples  ;  not  saying  whether 
she  would  be  warned  by  these  hints  or  riot. 

Mrs.  Anstey,  who  loved  and  respected  the 
lonely  and  heedless  young  stranger,  was  in  a  good 
deal  of  perturbation  lest  she  got  herself  in  trouble 
by  her  consciousness  of  rectitude  and  her  obsti 
nacy.  So  she  communicated  her  fears  to  Zury 
when  next  he  passed  her  way. 

Soon  Anne  saw  Zury  fastening  his  horse  to  one 
of  the  "  hitchin'  trees "  in  front  of  the  school- 
house,  and  she  knew  at  a  glance,  by  some  kind  of 
instinct,  that  he  had  come  on  the  subject  of  the 
proposed  "play-acting"  scene,  and  hurried  on 
her  armor,  offensive  and  defensive,  accordingly. 

'4  Howdy,  Miss  Sparrer.  So  ye  've  tuk  up  with 
Johnny's  proposial,  after  all." 

"  I  taken  up  John's  proposal?  Well!  I  have 
heard  that  those  most  interested  in  a  piece  of 
news  were  always  the  last  to  learn  it;  now  I 
know  the  saying  is  true." 

44  Sho,  sho  !  No  need  t'  git  wrathy  abaout  it ! 
Johnny  he's  a  pootty  good  feller,  whut  th'  is  of 
him,  'n'  plenty  of  him  sech  as  't  is." 

44  Much  or  little,  he  's  too  much  for  me ;  I  thank 
you  all  the  same  —  and  the  rest  of  my  kind 
friends  in  the  community,  likewise  !  " 

44  Thanks  seems  t'  be  plenty  with  yew  this  ar- 
ternoon." 


THE   TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.      189 

"  I  have  enough  to  pay  all  the  debts  I  owe  in 
the  world,  —  but  that  is  not  saying  much."  Then 
conscious  that  the  sharp  eyes  of  her  that-week's- 
companion  were  doubtless  scanning  her,  closely, 
from  some  coign  of  vantage,  she  insisted  on 
Zury's  coming  in,  where  there  would  be  a  safe 
party  of  three  instead  of  the  notoriously  perilous 
party  of  two.  Once  inside,  she  and  her  girl 
friend  took  pains  to  show  Zury  the  little  platform 
built  by  the  hands  of  her  loyal  boy-scholars  in 
preparation  for  the  u  Exhibition." 

"  Wha'  d'  ye  'llaow  t'  show  up?  " 

44  Oh,  speeches  and  dialogues,  and  some  sing- 
ing." 

"  That  all?" 

"  Yes,  I  guess  so." 

Then  her  companion  made  bold  to  add  a  word. 

"  Mr.  Prouder,  they  've  about  talked  Miss  Spar- 
rer  out  of  the  best  part  of  our  show  !  "  And  she 
proceeded  to  expatiate  upon  the  rare  delight  the 
world  was  to  lose  in  missing  that  representation 
of  the  "  Puritan  wedding ;  "  even  going  so  far  as 
to  bring  out  the  prim  dress,  which  deft-fingered 
Anne  had  devised  with  a  high  pointed  hood,  a 
white  muslin  waist,  a  neckerchief  and  an  apron. 

"  Hard  lines,  I  dew  say  !  All  that  nice  work 
got  t'  be  throw'd  away !  But  then,  it  'd  be  bet 
ter  t'  throw  away  tew  frocks  like  that  than  t' 
throw  away  yer  standin'  in  a  God-fearin'  com 
munity  —  naow  would  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Depends  a  little  on  whether  the  community  'a 
right  and  I  wrong,  or  vice  versa." 


ISO  ZURY. 

"Not  a  mite!  Not  a  blamed  mite!  More  of 
a  loss  ef  ye  're  right  th'n  ef  ye  're  wrong  ;  jest  's 
it's  more  loss  t'  lose  a  good  shillin'  th'n  a  bad 
one." 

"  A  woman  ought  n't  to  care  for  the  esteem  of 
a  community  of  perfect  "  — 

"  Idgits,  wuz  ye  goin'  t'  say  ?  Mebbe  ye  're 
right  abaout  th'  esteem  o'  fools  ;  but  I  pity  yew 
ef  y'  ever  have  t'  live  amongst  'em  after  ye've 
lost  it !  " 

She  knew  he  had  in  his  mind  the  "Univer- 
salist"  episode  in  his  own  past,  and  she  began  to 
appreciate  more  than  ever  the  despotic  tyranny  of 
a  lawless  and  unbridled  u  freedom "  of  opinion. 
It  was  this  same  "  freedom "  that  had  doomed 
her  Quaker  compatriots  of  only  a  few  generations 
ago  to  be  "  whipped  from  parish  to  parish  at  the 
cart's  tail." 

"  Oli,  well,  if  they  can  stand  it,  I  can."  And 
she  tossed  her  head  in  contemptuous  scorn. 

"  If  you  'n'  Johnny  wuz  married,  er  even  if 
either  of  ye  was  in  th'  married  state  already, 
nobody  'd  say  a  word ;  but  two  single  folks,  of 
course  "  — 

"  Oh,  bother !  Let  us  change  the  subject. 
When  did  you  hear  from  Mrs.  Prouder?" 

"  Quite  a  while." 

"  How  was  she  ?  " 

"  'Baout  th'  same.  Downey  —  dunno  's  the'  said 
whether  she  wuz  bedfast  er  not.  By  the  way,  ef 
I  don't  misremember  she  sent  word  I  wuz  t'  tell 
ye  haowdy  fer  her." 


THE   TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.      191 

44  Did  she  really  ?  I  'm  glad  she  was  so  kind 
as  to  think  of  me !  Will  you  give  her  my  love 
when  you  write?" 

"  Sartin,  sartin ;  V  1 11  be  a-writin'  agin  'n  a 
week  er  tew.  Naow  I  must  be  a-joggin'.  Wish 
ye  good  day  !  Good  day,  Loviny."  And  he  went 
out ;  but  Lovina  followed  him  for  some  private 
words,  and  soon  Anne  heard  herself  called  out  to 
where  Zury  sat  on  his  horse  ready  to  ride  away. 

"  Miss  Sparrow,  Mr.  Prouder  says  it  would  be 
all  right  if  you  was  to  do  the  scene  with  him 
instead  of  Mr.  McVey." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  'm  off  the  notion  altogether.  I  've 
begun  to  pick  my  dress  to  pieces  already." 

Zury's  face  darkened. 

"  O.  K.  Only  ye  better  not  speak  of  it,  Loviny, 
t'  nobody.  Th'  might  think  it  cur'us  th't  Miss 
Sparrer  was  hot  fer  it  when  it  wuz  a  young  feller 
wuz  in  question,  'n'  cooled  off  's  soon  's  th'  idee 
wuz  started  t'  dew  it  with  an  old  married  man, 
old  enough  t'  be  her  —  uncle." 

His  evident  mortification  was  "nuts"  to  Anne, 
and  she  laughed  one  of  her  merry  laughs. 

"  Oh,  you  're  none  too  old  for  the  part.  John 
Alden  was  no  chicken  when  he  married  Priscilla. 
But  I  hate  to  give  in  to  such  foolish  notions." 

44  Oh,  do,  Miss  Sparrow !  There,  I  got  it  all 
fixed,  and  now  you  are  the  one  to  spoil  it  all ! " 
And  poor  Lovina  began  to  cry.  Anne  went  out 
and  kissed  her,  and  dried  her  eyes,  saying, — 

44  Well,  well ;  there,  there,  my  dear.  Fix  it  any 
way  you  like.  What  difference  can  it  make  to 


192   •  ZCJRY. 

me,  or  anybody  else,  who  is  gifted  with  common 
sense !  " 

So  it  was  all  arranged.  John  Endicott  McVey 
unwillingly  "  took  the  bag  t'  hold,"  as  the  boys 
said,  when  it  was  announced  that  he  was  ousted 
from  his  place  as  bridegroom  and  assigned  the 
subordinate  one  of  Parson. 

The  great  day  approached.  The  programme 
was  arranged:  songs  by  the  school,  songs  by 
Miss  Sparrow,  recitations  by  scholars,  and  three 
scenes  of  "  A  Puritan  Wedding."  A  list  of  these, 
written  in  "  large  hand,"  on  a  foolscap  sheet,  was 
the  copy  set  by  Miss  Sparrow  to  the  "  first  class 
in  writing"  for  some  days  prior  to  the  momentous 
one;  and  by  effort,  emulation,  and  comparison 
a  large  number  of  available  sheets  were  ready  to 
scatter  about  the  seats  on  the  exhibition  evening. 
Never  was  such  a  congress  of  merry  sleighs,  steam 
ing  horses,  and  jingling  bells,  laughing  youths  and 
maidens,  and  gossiping  men  and  women ;  and 
never  such  a  crowd  in  the  school- house  as  filled  it 
to  the  very  window-spaces  long  before  the  time 
for  beginning  the  performance. 

The  curtain  drawn  aside,  behold  a  really  charm 
ing  bevy  of  healthy,  smiling  scholars,  standing  in 
ranks  ready  to  begin  "  The  Star-spangled  Banner." 

To  Anne's  surprise  and  chagrin  not  a  sound  of 
applause  greeted  the  scene  ! 

But  she  gave  the  signal  and  led  off,  — 

"  Oh  say  can  you  see  by  the  dawn's  early  light 
What  so  proudly  we  hailed  at  the  twilight's  last  gleaming," 

and  the  verses  followed  each  other  in  due  order, 


THE   TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.      193 

in  a  fine  volume  of  youthful  voice.  Still  not  a 
sign  of  approval.  And  yet  some  signs  of  satisfac 
tion  seemed  to  shine  in  the  faces  of  the  audience. 

Anne  still  hoped  for  better  things,  and  stepped 
out  —  looking  like  a  red-haired  angel,  as  a  scholar 
mistakenly  said  —  to  give  them  "  The  Mellow 
Horn"  in  her  finest  style,  with  "  Araby's  Daugh 
ter"  reserved  for  an  encore. 

Encore !  Not  a  note  of  recognition  for  her,  or 
of  approval  of  her  song !  She  bowed  herself  out 
in  some  confusion,  a  degree  of  dismay  approach 
ing  dangerously  near  to  tears.  She  almost  threw 
herself  into  Zury's  arms,  crying, — 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  What  dooz  what  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  don't  you  see  ?     They  don't  like  it !  " 

"  Don't  like  it !  Bless  yer  heart,  ye  're  away 
off  ef  ye  think  so  !  Like  it !  Why  the'  don't  know 
whether  the'  're  a-standin'  on  the'r  heads  er  the'r 
heels,  the'  're  so  tickled  !  " 

"  Then  why  don't  they  applaud  ?  " 

"  Oh,  clap  V  stomp  d'  ye  mean  ?  The'  ain't 
a  one  on  'em  as  knows  enough,  I  don't  expect! " 

"  Oh,  I  can't  go  on  this  way !  I  shall  die  if 
everything  falls  flat  like  this  !  " 

"  Wai,  I  '11  fix  that  all  O.  K." 

He  slipped  out  and  had  a  short  colloquy  with 
Peleg  Thum,  explaining  to  him  that  when  the 
folks  liked  anything  they  must  "  encore,"  that  is 
to  say,  clap  and  stamp.  So  Peleg  got  into  a 
group  of  congenial  spirits,  and  after  the  curtain 
fell  on  the  next  piece  they  "encored;"  where- 


194  ZURY. 

upon  the  whole  silent  audience  turned  toward  the 
group  of  innovators,  wondering  what  that  meant ! 
Was  it  part  of  the  show  ?  Peleg  explained :  — 

"  That 's  applause.  That 's  what  the'  call  4  en- 
corin'  '  — clappin'  'n'  stompin'  is." 

The  boys  nearest  to  Peleg  were  the  first  to 
catch  the  idea,  and  from  them  it  spread  like  wild 
fire.  The  novel  joy  of  making  a  licensed  noise  in 
public  became  so  popular  that  it  was  soon  difficult 
to  obtain  silence  in  time  for  the  next  thing  on  the 
programme.  Again  Peleg's  aid  was  invoked,  and 
it  was  understood  that  when  he  raised  his  stick 
and  shouted,  "  Thar,  thar,  boys !  "  quiet  must  be 
restored  —  by  the  strong  hand  if  needful. 

When  Anne  came  on  and  sang  "  The  Mistletoe 
Bough "  in  her  sweetest  tones  and  clearest  Eng 
lish,  the  delight  was  so  overwhelming  that  Peleg 
himself  forgot  to  stop  "  encoring  "  or  to  check 
anybody  else,  and  then  she  gave  "  Araby's  Daugh 
ter  "  as  an  encore. 

The  excitement  flagged  a  little  during  the  reci 
tation  of  "  Fitz  James  and  Roderick  Dhu  "  by  Silas 
Anstey,  —  gestures  like  those  of  a  lay-figure,  and 
voice  like  the  sounds  in  a  whispering  gallery,  — 
but  expectation  was  strained  to  the  utmost  as  the 
finale,  "  The  Puritan  Marriage,"  fell  due. 

"  Priscilla  on  her  way  to  meeting "  was  a 
shawled,  hooded,  and  rnittened  embodiment  of 
Puritanism.  True,  her  kerchief  was  figured  and 
her  apron  cross-barred,  but  what  of  that?  Her 
Bible  wrapped  in  a  handkerchief  was  very  puri 
tanical.  Her  soliloquy  pointed  to  the  cruel  sea  at 


THE   TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.      195 

the  east  of  her,  the  more  cruel  savages  on  the  west, 
the  dark  woods  all  about  her.  And  home,  dear 
England,  so  far,  far  away !  (Handkerchief.)  But 
had  not  the  Christian  his  home  wherever  he  could 
set  up  faith's  altar,  as  here  at  the  meeting-house, 
toward  which  her  steps  were  tending  ?  And  were 
seas  or  savages  frightful  to  any  one  who  was  com 
passed  about  by  the  legions  of  heaven  ?  She 
passed  on  to  meeting,  and  the  scene  closed. 

"  Priscilla  returning  from  meeting  "  was  met  by 
John  Alden  (dreadfully  like  Zury  Prouder),  who 
in  honest,  hearty  words  and  manner  (unfortunately 
reminding  you  of  Zury  Prouder1  s  words  and 
manners)  urged  the  claims  of  Captain  Miles 
Standish  to  the  hand  and  heart  of  the  fair  Pris 
cilla.  She  temporized  —  she  turned  away  —  she 
frowned  —  she  smiled  archly  and  suggestively 
upon  the  impenetrable  Alden.  As  to  her  heart, 
it  was  otherwise  engaged.  As  to  her  hand  — 
she  pulled  off  her  mitten  and  gave  it  to  the  opaque 
messenger,  and  desired  that  he  give  it  to  Captain 
Standish,  telling  him,  with  her  respectful  duty, 
that  that  was  as  near  to  the  hand  that  it  fitted  as 
he  would  ever  come  ! 

Then  when  the  swain  was  slowly  and  regret 
fully  departing  she  called  after  him,  "  Why  dost 
thou  not  ask  for  thyself,  John  ?  "  with  a  demure- 
ness  that  ought  to  have  brought  down  the  house. 

He  approaches,  he  kneels  and  kisses  her  hand, 
and  the  curtain  falls  amid  thunders  of  applause. 

"  The  marriage  "  was  solemnized  in  due  form. 
McVey,  with  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  flour  in  his 


196  ZURY. 

long  hair,  with  an  immensely  long  gown  (fash- 
ioned  by  Anne  out  of  black  muslin),  and  long 
bands  of  white  paper,  was  solemn  and  stately ;  a 
little  audience  of  favored  scholars  was  appropri 
ately  bashful  and  giggling,  and  Anne,  her  hood 
and  shawl  and  mittens  laid  aside,  was  —  Priscilla 
herself  —  a.  curly,  blushing,  smiling  bride. 

No  one  knew  any  just  cause  or  impediment. 
John  Alden  (in  a  Zury-esque  manner)  said  to  all 
the  minister's  inquisitive  queries  u  I  will,"  "and 
Priscilla  in  modest  treble  made  the  same  reply  to 
similar  questions. 

After  McVey  had  pronounced  them  man  and 
wife  they  turned  to  the  little  audience  of  four, 
seated  on  the  stage,  and  Priscilla  in  audible  voice 
asked  them  to  wait  there  until  she  should  return 
with  the  bride  cake.  She  disappeared,  and  came 
back  promptly  with  a  huge  tray  piled  high  with 
bits  of  cake,  each  wrapped  in  a  bit  of  paper.  She 
paused  and  asked  them  if  that  would  be  enough  : 
whereat  the  outside  audience  laughed.  The  in 
structed  scholar  answered  loudly  "  No !  "  which 
awakened  more  merriment.  Then  she  sent  out 
the  minister,  who  presently  came  back  with  a 
great  pile  of  similar  packages,  and  Priscilla 
sweetly  asked  a  second  girl  if  that  would  satisfy 
their  feeble  appetites.  Again  she  was  answered 
"  No  !  "  amid  louder  roars.  So  she  sent  out  John 
himself,  who  brought  in  a  bushel-basket  full  of 
little  bundles,  saying  that  that  was  all  they  could 
have.  After  the  scholars  had  taken  the  three  re 
ceptacles  in  charge,  Anne  stepped  to  the  front  and 


THE   TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.      197 

said  that  for  fear  her  bridesmaids  might  make 
themselves  sick,  she  would  suggest  that  the  audi 
ence  should  share  in  the  feast ;  and  each  person  as 
he  or  she  accepted  a  package  must  accept  with  it 
her  thanks  for  their  kind  attention. 

The  cake-bearers  stepped  forth,  and  the  curtain 
fell  for  the  last  time.  The  stamping  and  clap 
ping  rose  to  a  roar,  only  quieted  as  each  individual 
received  his  little  package,  which  occupied  his 
hands  and  his  mind  and  stopped  his  "  encoring." 

Anne  could  not  complain  of  the  quality  of  the 
thanks  she  received  from  such' of  her  audience  as 
she  had  a  chance  to  speak  with  —  that  is,  the  old 
folks.  The  young  men,  now  as  always,  seemed 
to  consider  her  a  person  of  a  different  sphere 
from  theirs.  Little  she  cared,  however,  so  long 
as  she  could  get  the  disorder  cleared  away  and 
rest  her  tired  body  in  bed.  The  comments  on 
the  homeward  drive  were  many,  and  generally 
enthusiastic. 

"  Tell  ye  what,  fellers,  Pele  Thum  'llaows  't  he 
's  be'n  t'  shows  in  Springville  whar  the'  charged 
tew  shilliiT  a  head  t'  come  in,  th't  warn't  no  bet 
ter  'n  that  wuz  !  Way  aout  h'yer,  t'  th'  Way  back 
meetin'  -  haouse  !  "  This  was  perhaps  the  most 
wildly  extravagant  praise  that  was  uttered,  and 
everybody  who  heard  it  repeated  it  to  everybody 
else  as  the  acme  of  eulogy.  At  the  same  time, 
some  consistent  old  "hard-heads"  either  kept 
silence  or  whispered  to  each  other  comments 
wherein  the  ominous  word  "  play-actin' "  bore  a 
large  part.  All  the  programmes  were  carried 


198  ZURY. 

away,  and  probably  some  of  them  exist  as  "mo- 
mentums"  to  this  day  in  farm-houses  in  Spring 
County. 

And  next  day  came  the  news  that  Zury's  wife 
had  died  a  week  before. 

Now  the  air  is  full  of  buzzing  gossip.  "  Never 
c'd  be  a  clearer  case  of  a  jedgement  on  play-actin'. 
Th'  Lord's  hand  's  in  it,  sure  enough  !  " 

"  I  felt  kind  o'  wicked  a-settin'  there  V  jest 
a-lookin'  on  !  Should  n'  wonder  a  mite  if  the  cuss 
wuz  t'  fall  on  th'  c'munity  ;  leastways  on  all  th't 
did  n't  bear  the'r  testimony  agin  it  fr'm  the  word 
go!" 

"  Ye  're  mighty  right  tew!  Mark  my  words  ; 
the'  '11  be  more  die  th'n  jest  poor  Mary,  innercent 
's  she  wuz,  'n'  s'lected  's  th'  instrument  of  th' 
Lord's  vengeance  !  " 

"  Yes  sirree  !  'N'  it 's  pootty  hard  t'  think  of  a 
perfessing  Christian  hurried  into  the  Presence,  'n' 
all  fer  the  doin's  o'  them  as  ain't  no  perfessers  as 
nobody  knows  on !  'D  oughter  to  be  a  warnin'  t' 
all  on  us,  specially  the  Prepared.  We  dun  no 
when  we  '11  be  took,  ner  yet  fer  whose  misdoin's  ! " 

"  Guess  th'  won't  be  nobody  bold  enough  t'  try 
it  on  agin,  in  th'  face  o'  Providence." 

"  Yew  bet  the'  don't  sech  doin's  git  t'  be  had 
h'yer  agin,  not  in  one  while  !  "  (And  there  was  no 
one  so  bold.  There  was  no  more  effort  in  the  di 
rection  of  that  guilty  and  giddy  gayety  for  many 
a  year.) 

"  Zury  's  in  a  pootty  fix !     If  sculemom  only 


THE   TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.      199 

knowed  it,  she  c'd  jest  take  her  grip-sack  and  march 
up  t'  his  place,  V  open  th'  door,  V  go  in  V 
squat  right  daown,  then  V  thar,  fer  keeps  !  " 

The  men  came  to  corresponding  (though 
slightly  divergent)  views  :  — 

"  Zury  he 's  be'n  'n'  gone  V  played  smart  Aleck 
fer  wunst !  'N'  sculemom  tew  !  He  's  got  jest 
's  good  a  right  t'  go  in  'n'  out  of  her  door  's  she 
hez,  t'day." 

"  Yes,  sir  !  'N'  ef  it 's  bolted,  t'  kick  it  in  ;  'n' 
holler  ;come  along  Anne  Proauder,  'n'  git  t' 
work.' " 

To  say  that  Anne  was  not  much  agitated  would 
be  untrue.  Of  course  she  heard  but  little  of  the 
row :  and  that  little  was  sifted  through  the  loving 
heart  of  Mrs.  Anstey,  so  it  was  robbed  of  much  of 
its  bitterness.  But  cruel  thoughts  haunted  her  pil 
low  and  shortened  her  rest.  This  was  a  new  State. 
In  Massachusetts  she  felt  sure  that  no  advantage 
could  be  taken  of  her  accidental  predicament ;  but 
who  could  tell  what  might  be  the  law  and  custom 
in  Illinois  ?  The  idea  was  horrible  !  She,  Anne 
Sparrow,  in  any  way  bound  to  that  rustic,  with 
his  sordid  views,  his  ignorance,  his  grizzling  tem 
ples,  and  —  ammonia !  Oh  no  ;  it  could  not  be ! 
But  that  any  one  could  think  of  it  for  a  moment! 

It  is  harder  to  say  what  Zury  thought  and  felt, 
but  it  was  much  in  the  same  line,  until  he  had 
time  to  get  some  trustworthy  knowledge  of  the 
law.  There  was  Flora  Peddicomb,  with  one  hun 
dred  and  sixty  acres,  well-fenced  and  well-built  on, 
and  well-stocked,  and  well-placed  as  to  three  hun- 


200  ZURY. 

dred  and  twenty  acres  already  his,  and  joining  it 
on  two  sides.  And  there  was  Anne  Sparrow,  with 
out  a  cent,  and  without  the  power  to  make  or  save 
a  cent  on  a  farm  —  and  so  smart  and  knowing 
that  he  was  afraid  of  her ! 

So  the  two  characters  in  the  ill-starred  "show" 
were  trembling  with  mutual  terrors  ;  each  afraid 
the  other  would  claim  the  right  to  make  of  the 
twain  one  flesh.  No  more  absurd  situation  has 
been  seen  since  the  warlike  Dowler  and  the  chiv 
alrous  Winkle  both  fled  from  Bath  to  Bristol,  each 
bent  on  saving  his  life  from  the  other. 

Zury  was  the  first  to  recover  his  equanimity. 
He  easily  got  competent  legal  advice  (gratis) 
which  informed  him  that  neither  party  could 
make  that  farce  into  a  marriage  without  the  co 
operation  of  the  other.  So  after  a  season  of  re 
served  gravity  which  repelled  gossip,  and  which 
might  be  attributed  to  a  decent  respect  for  poor 
Mary's  memory,  he  fell  into  his  usual  business-like 
manner  —  afraid  of  nothing  on  earth. 

He  would  have  liked  to  impart  his  self-confi 
dence  to  poor  Anne,  but  she  avoided  him  as  if  he 
were  an  enemy.  A  few  constrained  words  of 
common  civility,  always  in  company  with  some 
third  person,  and  always  concerning  his  dead  wife, 
were  all  she  vouchsafed  him ;  she  misinterpreted 
his  renewed  friendliness  as  a  claim  for  closer  inti 
macy  ;  he  misinterpreted  her  hauteur  as  offended 
feminine  vanity. 

She  observed  a  coldness  in  the  greetings  of  her 
female  acquaintances  which  hurt  her  greatly ;  and 


THE   TRANSPLANTED  MAYFLOWER.      201 

her  school  showed,  for  a  time,  diminished  attend 
ance,  diminished  interest,  and  diminished  personal 
respect,  which  hurt  her  more.  During  the  day 
light  she  managed  to  throw  off  much  of  this  un 
easiness,  but  with  the  darkness  came  the  horror, 
as  of  old. 

Time  is  balm :  gossip,  even  gossip,  the  immor 
tal  fiend,  grows  first  wild  with  hunger,  then  torpid 
with  starvation  when  it  is  left  absolutely  without 
food.  Things  settled  back  into  much  of  their  old 
routine.  For  Znry,  everlasting  money-making. 
For  Anne,  ceaseless  shedding  of  light  from  her 
little  lamp  of  intelligence.  For  McVey,  continual 
renewals  of  his  hopeless  passion  —  if  so  strong  a 
word  can  be  applied  to  his  feeble  emotions,  alter 
nately  growing  faint  with  absence  and  beaming 
in  their  full  tepid  warmth  when  a  sight  of  Anne 
again  blessed  his  eyes.  For  the  rest  of  our 
friends,  the  ordinary  dull  current  of  life. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ANNE'S    MONOTONY    AT    AN    END  —  AND   HER 
PEACE  ALSO. 

"  OH  Miss  Sparrow  !  My  mother  said  Boston 
must  be  pootty  much  of  a  place  ef  it  turns  out 
such  gals  as  yew  be  !  " 

"Did  she?  Well,  I'm  glad  —  for  dear  old 
Boston  !  But  you  should  say  4  as  you  are,'  not 
4  as  you  be.'  What  else  did  they  say  that  was  so 
pleasant?" 

"  Oh,  gran'dad  he  'llaowed  Deestrick  Number 
Seven  wuz  a  differ'nt  guess  sort  of  a  place  sence 
you  come." 

"  That 's  nice  ;  I  'm  glad  he  likes  my  work.  But 
DISTRICT  does  n't  spell  deeestrict.  What 
did  anybody  else  say  that  would  comfort  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the'  warn't  nobody  else  thar  —  but  Bob  V 
Jim,  V  my  cousin  Bill  Evans  from  'cross  river." 

"  What  did  they  say  ?  " 

"  The'  never  spoke  a  word." 

Straws  show  which  way  the  wind  blows,  uncon 
scious  that  they  are  doing  so.  The  particular 
straw  that  indicated  the  direction  of  this  partic 
ular  breeze  had  some  perception  of  his  task,  for 
after  a  moment  he  added  :  — 

"  You  know  the  young  fellers  hain't  be'n  edi- 


ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END.          203 

cated  in  the  Sparrow  Deestrick  school.  Districk 
I  would  say."  A  general  laugh  ran  through  the 
group  at  this  sally. 

"  No,  indeed  !  Poor  fellows,  they  don't  know 
what  they  've  missed  by  growing  up  too  soon. 
But  then,  if  I  have  your  love  and  your  parents' 
appreciation,  I  don't  care  the  least  bit  for  the 
opinion  of  anybody  else  on  earth  !  " 

This  might  be  called  a  fib  —  perhaps  even  a 
whopper.  For  where  lives  the  woman  who,  look 
ing  about  for  evidences  of  her  value  in  the  world, 
is  not  pained  by  a  lack  of  vigorous  masculinity  in 
them  ? 

Why  should  she  be  so  different  from  other 
women  ?  Why  should  nobody  in  the  world  love 
her  except  her  poor  scholars  and  poorer  John  Mc- 
Vey  ?  No  one  but  herself  knew  that  she  had  any 
beauty  —  such  as  it  was.  If  she  had  been  pale  in 
stead  of  rosy,  spare  instead  of  plump,  blackhaired. 
instead  of  blonde,  eleven  inches  across  the  shoul 
ders  instead  of  fourteen,  helpless  and  maudlin  in 
stead  of  strong  and  self-reliant,  the  dolts  about 
her  would  have  called  her  a  "ha-an's'm  lady." 

But  as  it  was,  if  the  poor  girl  sent  out  any  of 
those  womanly  glances  we  know  of,  that  say  "  does 
he  think  me  pretty  ?  "  they  simply  recoiled  upon 
the  sender — returned  like  Noah's  dove  from  the 
waste,  and  without  even  an  olive-branch. 

Suppose  they  had  admired  her,  she  could  hardly 
have  endured  them.  The  young  men  of  her  age 
seemed  so  much  younger  than  she  felt,  with  her 
more  varied  experience  and  broader  knowledge  of 


204  ZURY. 

the  world.  However,  they  did  not  admire  her. 
The  girls  who  stayed  with  her  were  enthusiastic 
in  her  praise,  but  the  accounts  they  took  home  of 
her  and  her  ways  displeased  the  others. 

"  Her  'n'  Johnny  McVey  is  both  tarred  with 
th'  same  stick.  Stuck  up  ?  Stuck  up  ain't  no 
name  fer  them  city  ducks  !  Nawth'n  aout  h'yer 
ain't  good  enough  fer  'em  —  'n'  them  's  poor  's 
jimpson-weed,  tew  !  " 

This  community  presented  the  extraordinary 
spectacle  of  a  society  without  holidays  and  almost 
without  amusements.  The  old  "  husking-bees " 
are  unknown  in  the  West,  where  corn  is  "shucked  " 
as  it  stands  in  the  field,  and  only  the  bare  ears 
thrown  into  the  wagon  to  be  carried  home.  Socia 
ble  christenings,  of  course,  there  are  none.  A  mar 
riage  is  often  merely  a  visit  to  the  preacher  or  to 
the  justice.  An  afternoon  call  on  a  week-day  finds 
the  house  empty,  save  one  or  two  busy  women  and 
a  few  unattractive,  unkempt,  ill-mannered  chil 
dren  ;  and  on  Sunday  social  visiting  is  sacrilegious. 
A  "quilting"  which  Anne  attended  was  ghastly 
in  its  dullness.  The  younger  women  were  proud 
and  bashful,  and  talked  together  in  whispers. 
She  fairly  talked  herself  out  for  the  benefit  of 
the  elders,  with  some  success,  too ;  but  after  that 
even  a  photograph-album  would  have  been  a  relief ! 
Tea,  when  it  came,  softened  things  a  little,  but -it 
was  too  late. 

Anne  was  more  of  a  bohemian  than  what  the 
polite  world  would  call  a  well-bred,  well  ordered 
damsel.  She  only  seemed  "  a  perfect  woman 


ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END.         205 

nobly  planned  "  by  comparison  with  the  very  im 
perfect  women  (however  nobly  planned,  however 
dutiful  and  devoted)  about  her.  The  desire  for 
some  girlish  or  womanly  joy  became  almost  a 
mania  with  her.  She  was  tempted  to  encourage 
McVey — only  he  was  too  insignificant  and  al 
ready  inconveniently  in  love  with  her.  She 
burned  for  conquest !  Could  she  not  devise  some 
innocent  gratification  of  her  vanity  to  ruffle  her 
sordid  existence  ? 

Once  in  a  certain  week  when  her  most  tried  and 
trustworthy  scholar  was  her  companion  she  de 
voted  a  whole  evening  to  loading  herself  with  all 
her  few  simple  adornments,  —  a  dotted  muslin 
with  lace  undersleeves,  a  little  silver  diadem  that 
had  been  her  mother's,  a  gay  belt,  a  pair  of  silk 
mitts,  long  silk  stockings  that  only  needed  a  little 
bit  of  darning,  and  dancing-shoes  with  narrow 
strings  crossing  each  other  on  the  instep  as  was 
the  pretty  fashion  of  those  days.  The  whole  out 
fit  was  worth  only  an  absurdly  small  sum,  yet 
when  she  got  it  on  she  looked  radiant.  By  combin 
ing  her  own  little  mirror  with  one  the  friend  had 
surreptitiously  brought  with  her  from  home,  and 
lighting  three  tallow  dips  all  at  once,  she  could  see 
herself  all  over  in  about  four  chapters,  a  scene  at 
a  time  and  continued  in  our  next.  She  liked  it. 

The  humble  companion  was  gratifyingly  explo 
sive,  but  the  Spring  County  clodhoppers,  if  they 
could  have  peeped  in  upon  the  strange  scene, 
would  have  only  jeered  :  — 

"  Haow  's  that  fer  a  brick-top  ?    Geeswax  !  if 


206  Z17RY. 

sculemom  had  any  more  freckles  'n  what  she  's 
got,  wliar  on  arth  'd  she  put  'em  ?  Have  t'  carry 
raound  a  sheet  o'  paper  in  her  hand,  the  hull  page 
jam  full  o'  left  over  freckles  !  " 

Late  in  the  spring  there  was  to  occur  some 
kind  of  respectable  picnic  —  a  temperance  cele 
bration  —  at  a  point  not  far  from  Wayback,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river.  In  Anne's  rebellious 
state  of  mind  she  was  tempted  to  intimate  to 
McVey  that  he  might  have  the  honor  of  escort 
ing  her  thither ;  whereupon  he  began  scheming 
for  the  necessary  leave  of  absence  from  the  tav 
ern.  In  vain  he  planned  and  twisted.  As  the  tav 
ern  people  wished  to  go,  the  drudge  must  stay 
and  mind  shop.  In  this  dilemma  he  mentioned 
the  matter  to  Prouder;  and  was  met  with  one 
of  those  moral  aphorisms  which  served  Zury  in 
such  good  stead  on  many  occasions  where  a  re 
fusal  was  to  be  the  answer  to  a  request. 

"  Young  man  !  Yew  keep  yer  business,  an' 
yer  business  '11  keep  yew  !  " 

"  My  business  don't  much  more  than  keep  me, 
anyhow.  About  all  I  get 's  my  board  and  lodging 
and  clothes." 

"  Well,  sonny,  that 's  all  I  git  outer  mine,  ef 
ye  come  t'  that." 

"  Expect  she  '11  be  pretty  considerable  disap 
pointed." 

"Who?" 

"  Why,  Miss  Sparrow.  (This  rather  sheep 
ishly.)  Did  n't  I  mention  she  wanted  to  go?" 

"  Sho  tew  man  !  Ye  don't  say  !  Wai,  we  '11 
see  abaout  it." 


ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END.          207 

The  quick  mind  of  Zury  was  glad  of  the 
chance  this  seemed  to  present  for  reestablish 
ing  his  old  safe,  yet  interesting  and  amusing,  in 
timacy  with  Anne ;  so  she  was  soon  surprised  by 
a  message  from  him,  brought  by  McVey,  to 
the  effect  that  they  three  would  make  the  trip 
to  the  picnic.  Anne  refused  promptly  and  de 
cidedly,  and  was  in  a  manner  compelled  to  ex 
plain  to  John  that  since  the  contretemps  about 
the  "  Puritan  Wedding,"  she  had  thought  best  to 
keep  clear  of  the  widower  —  because  folks  would 
talk  so ! 

Crestfallen  John  could  only  go  again  to  the 
Dens  ex  machina  with  this  discouraging  report, 
and  Zury  seized  the  opportunity  to  have  an  expla 
nation  with  the  school-ma'am. 

One  day,  after  school  hours,  there  came  his  well- 
known  "  rap-rap-rap-rap  "  on  the  school-house 
door  —  the  one  more  blow  than  the  three  cus 
tomary  ones,  being  an  unconscious  mark  of  the 
more  insistent  and  persistent  nature  of  the  rap 
per. 

Anne  was  alone,  and  with  a  quickened  pulse 
debated  what  she  should  do  in  view  of  this  long- 
feared  renewal  of  Zury's  visits.  She  thought 
that  he  might  conclude  that  she  was  absent,  and 
go  off  without  the  dreaded  interview ;  but,  un 
luckily,  Zury  had  seen  her  through  the  window 
and  had  no  idea  of  being  balked  in  his  plans. 

"  Rap-rap-rap-rap-TLlP." 

Then  Anne  laughed  down  her  tremors  (it  be 
ing  broad  daylight),  and  appeared  at  the  door  — 


208  ZURY. 

all  in  her  pretty  working  d£sJiabilt£,  with  inky 
finger,  and  hair  tucked  behind  her  ears. 

"  Good  day,  Mr.  Prouder.  I  'm  sorry  I  can't 
ask  you  in,  but  I  am  all  alone.  Eureka  Anstey 
is  staying  with  me,  but  she  has  run  home  on  an 
errand." 

"  Oh,  wal  "  —  stammered  Zury,  rather  taken 
aback.  He  had  never  encountered  just  this  de 
velopment  of  female  prudery  before.  "I  —  jest 
called  tew  —  kinder  pass  the  time  o'  day." 

"  Well,  please  to  call  and  pass  the  time  of 
some  other  day."  And  she  was  going  to  shut 
the  door. 

"Oh,  say  —  Miss  Sparrer  !  Ye  ain't  no  call  t' 
be  afeared  o'  me  —  ole  Zury  Praouder  !  'Course 
it  wuz  a  leetle  orkard  fer  a  while  arter  th'  kind 
o'  play-actin'  comin'  accidental  how  it  did  V 
when  it  did." 

'*  I  'in  not  afraid  of  any  man !  I  'm  only  afraid 
of  women  and  children  —  afraid  the  women  may 
do  me  harm  so  that  I  can't  do  the  children  any 
more  good." 

"Wal,  thet's  right  — thet's  right,  V  like  ye 
tew.  Th'  women  did  talk  fer  a  while,  but  I  soon 
stopped  it.  I  tol'  'em  what 's  the  fact ;  th't  that 
thar  form  o'  words  don't  vally  no  more  'n  th' 
wind,  'thaout  yew  'n'  me  choose  t'  make  it  so." 

He  paused.  Anne  paled  slightly  in  fear  of 
what  he  might  say  next,  and  she  hastened  to  "  put 
her  foot  down  for  good  and  all  "  on  any  such 
idea. 

"  Then  that  settles  it !    You  can  set  their  minds 


ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END.         209 

at  rest.  Tell  them  that  if  you  were  the  last  man 
left  on  earth  I  would  n't  marry  you !  "  Then, 
ashamed  of  her  rudeness,  she  added,  with  a  slight 
smile,  "  Nor  you  me  if  I  were  the  last  woman." 

"  Jesso,  jesso,  "  said  he ;  and  as  she  noted  his 
crestfallen  aspect  she  was  glad  she  had  been  so 
decided ;  although  the  fact  was  that  his  look  did 
not  mean  blasted  hope,  but  only  the  mortification 
the  natural  man  must  feel  at  being  spurned  by  a 
fair  feminine  foot,  even  though  he  had  no  thought 
of  kneeling  thereat.  A  gay  laugh  would  have 
been  his  proper  rejoinder,  but  he  was  too  simple, 
where  women  were  concerned,  to  hide  anything. 

"  I  only  went  fer  t'  say  th't  ef  th'  wust  come 
tew  th'  wust,  we  bed  th'  remedy  in  aour  own 
hands." 

"Well,  we  haven't.  The  remedy  would  be 
worse  than  the  disease." 

"  Wai,  then  —  thar  we  be  !  Naow  things  bein' 
as  the'  be,  th'  best  way  t'  stop  idle  tongues  a-wag- 
gin'  is  t'  go  on  's  though  no  sech  a  thing  ever  got 
inter  aour  heads.  Ain't  it  ?  " 

She  stood  a  while  in  her  old  attitude,  and  he 
could  observe  her  oval  nails  tapping  her  teeth, 
all  gleaming  in  the  sunshine.  (They  were  pretty 
nails,  save  the  one  on  the  thumb,  marred  by  the 
"nibbing"  of  numberless  quill  pens.)  The  longer 
she  waited  the  more  eager  Zury  grew  for  her 
consent. 

"  Come  right  along.  Ef  the'  strike  at  yew, 
the'  strike  at  me,  tew.  We  '11  be  in  th'  same 
box,  yew  V  me.  I  'm  a  man  o'  my  word,  V  I 
tell  ye  I  '11  stan'  by  ye  !  " 


210  ZURY. 

Still  she  hesitated,  while  he,  unaccustomed  to 
sue  in  vain,  was  almost  driven  beyond  his  patience 
by  her  charms  and  her  coyness.  He  even  ven 
tured  to  come  nearer,  while  she  edged  gently 
away.  She  was  not  at  all  disposed  to  marry  him, 
or  any  man ;  nevertheless,  the  suggestion  was 
pleasant,  and  tended  toward  healing  wounded 
pride  and  vanity.  "  Am  I  afraid  of  him  ?  "  she 
asked  herself.  "  No,  indeed !  Shall  I  stay  at 
home  like  a  born  coward  ?  If  I  do  I  shall  despise 
myself  forever  after."  Then  she  said  aloud  :  — 

"  I  '11  go  !  " 

Zury  rode  off  homeward  in  great  good  humor 
with  himself  and  the  world.  He  just  realized 
how  much  he  had  been  unconsciously  missing  the 
brilliant  Anne  during  the  past  weeks. 

"  Laws,  haow  I  wish  she  owned  the  Peddicomb 
Place !  Gee  Rusalem !  I  would  n't  care  ef  she 
never  milked  a  caow  in  her  life.  Jule  kin  dew  th' 
milkin'."  And  his  mind  dwelt  on  her  strange 
ways  and  her  flattering  concession  in  yielding  to 
his  persuasion.  "But  then  —  that  thar  question 
she  faound  it  so  hard  t'  answer !  Marr'd  er  sin 
gle.  Marr'd  er  single."  And  he  rode  on  with 
darkened  brow.  In  fact,  he  rode  on  past  his  own 
place,  clear  over  to  the  Peddicomb  farm,  and 
feasted  his  eyes  on  the  handsome  property.  He 
did  not  see  Flora  Peddicomb,  which  was  fortu 
nate  —  for  Flora. 

Before  the  picnic  day  arrived  the  Wayback 
world  heard,  without  surprise  or  alarm,  that  Zury 
Prouder  wanted  a  team  to  take  him  across  the 


ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END.         211 

river  on  the  very  afternoon  set  for  that  festivity 
and  a  man  to  fetch  it  back  in  case  he  should  con 
clude  to  stay  longer ;  also,  that  John  McVey  was 
to  be  the  man,  and  that  Miss  Sparrow  was  to  ac 
company  John  to  the  picnic. 

"  Ye  see,  a  feller  's  be'n  a-off'rin'  me  t'  pay  my 
carr'ge-hire  ef  I  'd  come  over  V  look  at  s'm  pars- 
ter  he  's  got  t'  lease  V  s'm  medder  t'  cut  er  t'  sell 
in  th'  field,  V  I  kin  go  a  Saturday  er  never." 

Now  behold  the  trio  in  the  carryall  being  fer 
ried  over  the  river — McVey  paying  the  ferriage  — 
early  on  the  eventful  Saturday  afternoon.  Anne 
was  in  her  dotted  muslin  and  all,  and  her  eyes 
and  cheeks  were  beaming.  She  thought  of  the 
coming  triumph,  and  in  her  thorough  content 
ment  kindly  resolved  that  she  would  be  most  con 
siderate  to  her  crushed  rivals,  and  not  keep  their 
lovers  from  them  longer  than  a  very  little  while. 
Then  she  took  her  slippers  from  her  pocket  and 
crossed  the  strings  over  the  back  of  her  fair, 
freckly  hand  to  show  Zury  how  they  went.  He 
opined  "  sech  things  is  vanity  an'  a  poor  prepara 
tion  fer  the  Lord's  day  tomorry  "  —  but  he  kept 
looking  all  the  same. 

Zury  left  his  young  friends  near  the  picnic,  and 
drove  on  to  see  the  leasable  pasture  and  salable 
meadow. 

The  picnic  was  held  in  a  pretty  grove,  cleared 
of  underbrush,  the  platform  for  speakers  and  the 
seats  for  hearers  being  in  a  leafy  bower,  built  of 
boughs  and  saplings  suspended  and  strung  from 
tree  to  tree.  All  was  gay  and  pretty,  and  Anne 


212  ZURY. 

prepared  herself  for  happiness  and  a  little  inno 
cent  triumph. 

But,  alas !  She  was  a  swan  among  goslings. 
She  never  put  on  her  little  low  shoes  at  all,  nor 
her  silver  crescent.  The  other  girls  were  not 
Spring  County  girls  from  her  side  the  river,  but 
all  strangers  to  her.  McVey  knew  nobody  to  in 
troduce  to  her,  even  if  he  had  had  the  pluck  to  do 
it.  Most  of  the  women  were  in  silks  or  solid 
stuffs,  —  red,  green,  and  blue,  and  ugly,  —  so  that 
her  cherished  dotted  muslin  looked  —  well  —  ri 
diculous.  She  was  the  amusement  of  the  whole 
rude  crowd.  They  would  pass  by  where  she  and 
McVey  sat  silent  and  abashed,  and,  before  they 
had  got  fairly  away,  burst  out  laughing.  "  The 
freckles  could  n't  find  no  more  room  on  her  face  V 
han's  V  so  the'  broke  out  on  her  frock !  "  This 
went  on  until,  taking  the  cue  from  each  other,  the 
friends  formed  a  regular  procession  of  couples 
past  where  our  unhappy  pair  were  seated ;  then 
when  in  desperation  Anne  seized  John's  arm  and 
joined  in  the  walk  they  all  sat  down  and  left  the 
"  show  "  to  walk  alone  ! 

Oh  the  agony  of  anger,  mortification,  disap 
pointment  compressed  into  that  one  afternoon ! 
As  a  confessed  felon  in  a  prisoner's  dock  before  a 
gaping  world,  she  could  not  have  suffered  more. 

"  John,  do  you  want  to  marry  me  ?  " 

"  I  do,  Miss  Sparrow ;  same  as  ever  !  " 

"Well,  you  shall!" 

When  Prouder  the  powerful  came  upon  the 
scene  it  was  like  a  flash  of  light  to  her.  Every- 


ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END.         213 

body  knew  him,  and  either  liked  or  feared  him  — 
usually  both.  He  saw  at  a  glance  what  had 
taken  place,  and  neglecting  everybody  else  made 
straight  for  her  with  an  air  of  delighted  surprise, 
and  she  hailed  him  as  a  deliverer  from  torment. 

"Wai,  Miss  Sparrer!  Yew  here?  Wai,  I 
wanter  know !  " 

"  What  there  is  left  of  me,  Mr.  Prouder." 

Then  he  sought  out  the  managing  committee 
and  leading  men  of  the  occasion. 

"  Wai !  T  other  side  o'  th'  river  's  a-gittin' 
clean  overslaughed  by  this  side!  Here,  brother 
Fordham,  brother  Lowe,  ye  must  a  managed  yer 
frolic  pootty  well  t'  dror  in  sech  high-up  com- 
p'ny  !  'Llaow  a  Spring  Caounty  citizen  t'  present 
tew  a  Posey  Caounty  C'mitty  Miss  Sparrer,  from 
Bosting,  in  th'  State  o'  Massychusetts,  at  present 
a-stayin'  temperary  in  Illinois.  But  remember  he 
don't  present  her  fer  keeps.  Spring  Caounty 
claims  her.  She's  only  a  loan  t'  Posey.  She 
hain't  be'n  a  denizen  o'  Spring  long  enough  fer 
me  t'  call  her  Sister  Sparrer  yit,  but  mebbe  we  11 
be  praoud  t'  call  her  so  some  day,  when  some 
Spring  Caounty  man  calls  her  by  his  name  before 
Squire  Braown  h'yer ! 

"  H'yer,  brother  Stokes,  —  Miss  Sparrer,  from 
Bosting,  in  th'  State  o'  Massychusetts  :  brother 
Stokes,  the  Presidin'  Elder  o'  the  Feet-washing 
Baptis'  d'nom'nation.  Brother  Stokes,  yew  make 
Miss  Sparrer  acquainted  'raound  a  leetle  whilst  we 
seek  a  snack  of  that  nourishment  fer  th'  body, 
'thaout  which  th'  soul  don't  nourish  wuth  a  cent." 


214  ZURY. 

The  tide  was  turned,  and  Anne  was  anything 
but  neglected  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Her  face, 
her  voice,  her  good  English,  and  her  Boston  pro 
nunciation  of  it,  seemed  to  make  an  impression 
wherever  she  went.  Still,  it  was  the  act  of  a 
friend,  forcing  her  into  a  kind  of  success  entirely 
among  people  much  older  than  herself.  It  was 
not  a  personal  conquest  with  her  own  bow  and 
spear.  It  still  remained  a  problem  whether  she 
was  or  was  not  a  woman  to  be  sought  for  and 
longed  for  like  other  girls. 

She  had  one  little  bit  of  honey-sweet  revenge. 
She  saw  speaking  to  Elder  Stokes's  wife  one  of 
the  youths  who  had  joined  in  the  conspiracy  to 
torment  her.  Said  she  to  the  Elder  (who  had 
remained  near  her,  extremely  attentive  and  con 
spicuously  impressed),  — 

"  How  are  the  manners  of  young  people  in 
Posey  County  ?  " 

"It  is  regrettable  to  observe,  Miss  Sparrow, 
that  the  manners  of  the  young  in  the  frontier 
caounties  are  not  what  they  are  in  older  settled 
c'munities  further  east.  When  I  was  to  Bozry 
Theological  College,  deportment  was  tort  abaout 
as  strict  as  any  other  one  branch.  Consequently 
I  am  the  more  competent  of  judging." 

"  That  young  man,  speaking  to  Mrs.  Stokes,  for 
instance ;  what  educational  institution  has  had 
the  care  of  him  ?  " 

"That,  mom,  is  my  son  Joab,  and  as  yet  he  is 
without  the  benefit  of  collegiate  education.  Joab, 
my  son !  Step  here  a  momint.  I  want  to  make 


ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END.         215 

you  acquainted  with  Miss  Sparrer,  from  Bosting, 
in  the  State  of  Massychusetts.  One  of  the  centres 
of  Learning  and  the  Arts  of  our  country.  I  may 
say  the  centre." 

Anne  in  the  mean  time  looked  very  gravely  and 
sweetly  at  the  blushing  Joab,  who  advanced  hold 
ing  out  his  fat,  red  hand.  Then  she  turned  to 
Mr.  Stokes  without  accepting  or  returning  Joab's 
salutation,  and  said,  "  Thank  you.  I  did  not 
wish  to  be  introduced ;  "  and  walking  the  aston 
ished  Elder  in  the  opposite  direction,  she  added, 
"  What  a  pity  it  is  that  all  young  men  cannot 
go  to  Bozra  College  !  "  Then  she  gayly  changed 
the  subject  to  something  quite  different.  McVey 
told  her  afterward  that  Joab  never  got  over  it 
as  long  as  he  lived,  though  he  was  never  tired 
of  protesting,  "  I  warn't  no  wuss  ner  any  o'  the 
rest ! " 

As  for  Anne,  she  almost  loved  Prouder  for  his 
strength  and  kindness. 

When  it  was  getting  dusk  and  time  to  go  home 
Anne  and  McVey  found  Prouder,  as  usual,  the 
centre  of  a  circle  of  interested  men.  He  was  dis 
coursing  freely,  and  at  the  same  time  carving  his 
initials  and  the  date  on  an  iron-wood  stick  which 
he  had  cut  from  the  underbrush  near  by,  and  laid 
on  his  lap,  protected  by  his  well-known  bandanna 
handkerchief.  His  was  such  an  active  nature 
that  he  always  liked  to  be  doing  two  things  at 
once.  Talking  did  not  alone  fill  his  attention. 

"Yes,  mom.  I'm  a-goin'  home  same  way's 
yew  be,  and  '11  be  glad  of  good  comp'ny.  Thar  ! 


216  ZURY. 

That  stick  '11  be  a  momentum,  's  they  say,  of  this 
h'yer  picnic ;  fer  which  I,  fer  one,  thank  my 
brethern  and  sistern  of  Posey,  and  shall  remem 
ber  'em  in  my  prayers  to  the  Throne." 

When  they  got  out  on  the  road  it  was  quite 
dark. 

"What's  that?" 

It  was  Anne's  old  foolish  fear,  that  kept  her 
always  on  the  qui  vive  at  night,  which  now  was 
attracted  by  a  long  line  of  wavering  flame  on  a 
hillside  away  inland  from  their  road. 

"  'Pears  like  th'  grass  is  afire  over  there.  Guess 
we  're  all  right.  Let  'em  aout  a  leetle,  my  son." 

McVey  hurried  on  his  horses,  but  still  the  fire 
seemed  to  be  heading  them  off  from  the  ferry, 
their  objective  point.  Every  little  while  there 
would  be  quite  a  large  surge  of  blaze  when  the 
flame  caught  the  longer  grass  of  a  marsh,  or  came 
across  a  brush  heap  or  a  dead  tree- top  in  its  path. 

At  length  they  met  a  fast -driven  team  that 
came  near  running  into  theirs  in  its  mad  career, 
making  Anne  cling  to  Zury  in  a  sudden  terror 
she  could  not  control. 

"  Ye  can't  git  through  !  Fences  all  afire !  We 
had  t'  drive  fer  our  lives." 

"  Haow  's  th'  river  bank?" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right  afoot.  Only  ye  can't 
drive  a  waggin  that  a-way." 

With  tins  the  other  team  resumed  its  hurried 
course  to  the  rear. 

"Sho  tew  man,  but  them  fellers  is  good  'n' 
scare't !  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it !  Still,  's  I 


ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END.         217 

might  be  held  responsible  fer  th'  team,  yew  tew 
better  drive  back  V  stay  over  night,  rn'  I  '11  push 
through  afoot  by  th'  river  bank  ef  I  git  druv  offen 
th'  road." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  ferry  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  more  'n  a  mild  in  a  bee-line  ;  but  th' 
river  makes  a  bend  away  from  us  h'yer,  'n'  I  may 
have  t'  go  right  smart  of  a  ways  raound." 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  go  back  with  Mr.  McVey  !  Let 
me  walk  on  with  you !  " 

"  Wai,  ef  ye  wanter  walk  I  can't  pervent  ye. 
Th'  highway  's  free  tew  all.  But  ef  ye  take  my 
advice  ye  '11  go  back.  Make  up  yer  mind  pootty 
suddent,  though,  fer  I  'm  off."  And  he  jumped 
from  the  vehicle. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  go  back.     I  '11  go  with  you  !  " 

So  she  sprang  lightly  to  his  side  and  prepared 
for  starting.  He  only  paused  to  give  some  last 
directions  to  McVey,  and  then  joined  her.  They 
walked  on  at  too  rapid  a  pace  to  do  much  talking, 
and  it  was  evident  that  Prouder  was  getting  anx 
ious  as  to  the  outcome. 

At  last  the  blazing  fences  made  the  road  posi 
tively  impassable,  and  they  left  it,  still  keeping 
as  near  it  as  the  diagonal  line  of  fire  would  per 
mit.  The  sparks  fell  in  showers  ;  poor  Anne's 
light  muslin  was  ruined,  and  was  a  source  of  dan 
ger  beside.  The  smoke  was  sweet,  pungent,  sti 
fling.  Prouder  made  her  take  hold  of  one  end 
of  his  stick,  while  he  kept  hold  of  the  other  and 
piloted  the  way.  Soon  he  felt  her  drop  the  stick, 
and,  looking  back,  saw  her  fighting  a  fire  in  the 


218  ZURY. 

skirt  of  her  dress.  He  stepped  back  and  smoth 
ered  it. 

"  We  '11  head  straight  fer  th'  river  V  git  aout 
o'  this,  hit  er  miss." 

So  they  turned  their  backs  directly  to  the  fire, 
and  soon  got  into  a  more  tenable  place  where  they 
could  see  each  other,  as  the  fire's  progress  was  slow, 
there  being  no  wind ;  but  the  ground  was  terribly 
rough,  and  the  underbrush  and  tree-tops'  "  down  " 
almost  impenetrable.  They  arrived  at  a  little 
stream,  and  were  forced  to  travel  down  its  very 
bed.  Anne  hesitated  at  this. 

"  Hist  up  yer  petticoats  !     Don't  mind  me  !  " 

"  Oh  dear !  Well,  you  go  right  on  and  don't  — 
don't  mind  me.  Just  let  me  look  out  for  my 
self."  Then,  managing  her  skirts  as  well  as  she 
could,  she  waded  and  stumbled  forward. 

"  This  h'yer  branch  '11  take  us  right  daown  t' 
th'  coal-mine  on  th'  pint." 

44  Then  how  about  the  ferry  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  past  prayin'  fer,  ontel  th'  fire  's 
reached  th'  river  V  burnt  itself  aout  so  's  ye  kin 
pass  over  th'  burnt  deestrick." 

44  But  where  will  we  be  when  the  fire  reaches 
the  river  ?  Oh,  dear  ! " 

44  We  '11  be  in  th'  mouth  o'  th'  coal-mine  —  ef 
so  be  Providence  concludes  t'  spare  us  ;  'n'  I  sh' 
think  he  could  's  well  's  not.  Leastways  yew  '11 
be  in  th'  coal-mine." 

"I'll  be  —  in  the  —  ?  Where  you  are  I'll 
be!" 

44  Wai,  kin  ye  swim  ?     I  think  some  o'  swim- 


ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END.         219 

rain'  th'  river  V  raakin' fer  hum.  Folks '11  be 
scare't,  smellin'  th'  fire  V  not  seem'  on  us  back ; 
V  if  I  go  on  over,  I  kin  tell  'em  we  're  all  O.  K." 

"  No,  I  can't  swim,  but  I  can  drown  !  And  I 
will,  too,  before  I  '11  stay  alone  in  any  coal-mine. 
Oh!  oh!  oh!  oh!"  (These  were  sobs  that 
seemed  to  wrench  her  heart  out  with  their  tu 
multuous  violence.) 

"  Wai,  thar !  thar  !  thar  !  We  '11  see  !  Doan't 
'ee  cry  naow,  there  's  a  good  daughty  !  " 

He  turned  and  walked  back  to  where  she 
stood,  helpless  with  sobbing,  her  dropped  skirts 
swaying  in  the  stream,  and  made  her  pick  them 
up  again,  and  then  put  his  strong  arm  around  her 
and  helped  and  guided  her  as  if  she  had  been 
a  baby,  as  she  in  her  heart  felt  that  she  was. 
Strange  beasts  and  reptiles  seemed  to  be  darting 
past  her,  fleeing  from  the  fire.  She  does  not  know 
to  this  day  whether  they  were  real  or  imaginary. 

"  How  much  trouble  I  make  you,"  she  whispered. 

At  last  they  reached  the  coal-mine  mouth,  —  a 
level  drift  in  the  river  bluff.  As  they  felt  their 
way  in  something  rushed  past  them  outward :  no 
doubt  about  it  this  time.  Anne  screamed  and 
clasped  Zury  around  the  neck. 

"  Fox,  I  guess"  said  he,  coolly,  so  as  to  avoid 
alarming  her. 

"  Naow  don't  ye  stir  'raound  much,  whilst  I  go 
fer  a  light." 

She  scarcely  dared  to  breathe,  or  to  put  out  her 
hand  for  steadiness,  while  he  was  gone.  "  Oh, 
dear,"  she  thought,  "I'm  going  to  be  fright- 


220  ZURY. 

ened ! "  and  her  skin  began  to  erect  itself  in 
points,  her  ears  to  ring,  and  her  hair  to  bristle 
audibly  against  the  straw  of  her  hat.  The  solid 
earth  was  threatening  to  heave  and  roll,  and  nau 
sea  was  not  far  off,  when  Zury  reappeared  with  a 
blazing  brand  he  had  snatched  from  the  woods- 
fire.  To  her  surprise  she  perceived  that  she  was 
standing  erect  and  firm,  instead  of  waving  and 
tottering  as  she  had  supposed.  What  a  vision  of 
life  and  comfort  he  appeared  to  her  staring  eyes ! 

He  took  his  brand  and  explored  the  floor  and 
sides  of  the  drift  for  prior  occupants.  Nothing 
serious  came  to  view :  either  there  was  nothing 
there,  or  whatever  there  was  fled  farther  into  the 
tunnel.  The  little  flame  shed  a  flaring,  fitful 
light  along  the  black,  jagged  walls  of  coal,  some 
six  feet  apart,  which  stretched  away  into  the 
solid  hill,  losing  themselves  in  inky  darkness, 
where  the  light  could  penetrate  no  farther. 
Anne  trembled  as  her  eyes  strove  in  vain  to  fath 
om  the  mysterious  void,  and  she  turned  again  to 
the  friendly  form  near  by. 

At  one  side  of  the  passage  there  was  a  broad 
shelf  cut  into  the  solid  coal,  whereon  the  mule- 
drivers  were  wont  to  store  their  hay  and  grain. 
(Their  rough  feeding-stable  was  by  this  time 
blazing  outside.)  On  the  shelf  there  was  some 
hay  and  a  lot  of  empty  bags. 

"  Thar  !  I  swaow  tew  man !  Ef  that  ain't  th' 
blamedest  providentialest  thing  I  ever  come 
acrost !  I  'in  jest  a-goin'  t'  be  able  t'  make  ye  as 
comf'table  as  Queen  Victorey  tew  hum  tew  th' 


ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END.         221 

Taower  o'  London,  in  three  shakes  of  a  lamb's 
tail !  Thar  !  I  '11  spread  this  hay  daown,  so  !  'N' 
stuff  some  on  *t  inter  a  bag  fer  a  piller,  so ;  'n' 
spread  my  hank'cher  on  it,  so  ;  'n'  then  ye  '11  lay 
daown,  so ;  'n'  I  '11  pull  off  yer  wet  shoes  'n' 
stockin's  s0,  and  so  ;  'n'  wrap  yer  limbs  up  in  my 
coat,  so  ;  so  's  t'  keep  yer  wet  petticoats  offen  ye  ! 
Oh,  law  sakes  alive.  I  've  got  t'  git  hum  some- 
haow !  " 

"  Sure  as  you  leave  me  I  '11  follow  you  into 
that  river  and  drown  myself  before  your  eyes  ! 
I  'd  rather  drown  than  go  crazy !  You  don't 
know  me !  I  should  be  a  lunatic  in  an  hour  af 
ter  I  was  left  alone  in  this  place  !  A  raving  mad 
woman  for  life  !  "  And  she  prepared  to  put  into 
execution  her  threat  of  following  him  to  the 
river. 

"  Wai,  wal !  We  '11  see,  we  '11  see.  I  've  got 
t'  git  s'm  stuff  fer  this  h'yer  fire,  anyhaow." 

As  he  went  out  she  divined,  with  the  acuteness 
of  the  insane,  that  he  was  not  coming  back. 
She  cast  one  frightened  glance  into  the  black 
mine,  then  took  the  poor  little  slippers  from  her 
pocket,  slipped  them  on,  scrambled  off  her  shelf, 
and  followed  him,  even  stepping  over  the  line 
of  fire  which  he  was  building  to  bar  ingress  to 
the  mine  by  any  beast  or  creeping  thing.  She 
found  him  at  his  task,  and  never  let  him  get  a 
yard  away  from  her  in  his  search  for  fuel ;  fol 
lowing  him  as  a  cat  does  a  mouse,  while  her  wet 
skirts  flapped  about  her  stockingless  ankles. 

"  Recklect  I  've  got  lots  o'  things  t'  think  of 
'n'  look  aout  fer." 


ZURY. 

"  And  I  am  alone  in  the  world  —  quite  alone 
—  all  alone!" 

She  felt  and  knew  that  he  was  watching  his 
chance  to  run  off  to  the  river.  If  he  did,  she 
would  go,  too  !  She  would  never  be  alone  in  that 
black  darkness  —  never  —  she  would  keep  close 
to  him  until  the  kind  water  should  close  over  her 
head  like  a  coverlet  and  shut  out  the  sight  of  it  all. 
In  the  days  that  followed  she  often  wished  that 
such  had  been  the  outcome. 

Perhaps  when  he  saw  her  drowning  he  would 
turn  back,  and  she  could  clasp  him  so  tightly 
that  she  would  not  drown  alone !  Sh6  remem 
bered  how  he  had  been  her  strong  and  constant 
friend  and  protector  at  every  difficult  step  of  her 
life  here.  Why  had  she  repelled  his  suggestion 
of  marriage  ?  He,  so  cheerful,  so  fearless,  so 
powerful  in  mind,  body,  estate,  and  position  — 
why  should  he  not  be  her  husband  —  her  sword 
and  shield  forever  ?  What  was  that  other  kind 
of  marriage  Squire  Brown  told  her  of  ?  Common 
law? 

In  her  piteous  plight  she  was  suddenly  seized 
with  the  boldness,  the  cunning,  and  the  reckless 
ness  of  desperation.  "  Mr.  Prouder,"  she  began, 
with  a  forced  and  sickly  laugh,  "  if  our  mock- 
wedding  had  been  a  real  one,  you  would  n't  offer 
to  leave  me  here  —  to  die  —  now  would  you?" 
Her  wide-eyed,  pretended  smile,  that  was  more 
like  a  grimace  of  terror,  would  have  melted  a 
harder  heart  than  Zury's,  but  he  was  looking 
carefully  away. 


ANNE'S  MONOTONY  AT  AN  END.         223 

"Ye  don't  'llaow  t'  let  me  go  along  hum,  V 
come  back  fer  ye  bright  V  early  in  th'  morn- 
in'?" 

"  I  WILL  NOT." 

She  was  Anne  Sparrow,  and  dark  night  was 
all  around  above,  and  below,  at  right  and  left, 
before  and  behind  her  —  Zury  was  the  only  object 
whereon  her  eyes  could  rest  without  a  shudder. 
Insanity  gibed  and  gibbered  at  her  from  all  else. 
She  took  hold  of  his  coat  with  both  her  hands, 
bowed  her  head  upon  them,  and  again  sobbed 
aloud. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  over 
the  fire  to  her  rude  couch,  and  did  not  try  again 
to  leave  her.  One  of  her  slippers  dropped  from 
the  white  foot,  now  stained  and  splashed,  and 
long  afterward  the  mule-drivers  cherished  the 
misshapen  little  foot-covering  that  fitted  so  many 
strange  prints  in  the  soil  near  by. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ANNE  COMPROMISED   AND   PERSECUTED. 

IN  the  first  gray  dawn  Anne  saw  Prouder's 
figure  outlined  against  the  light  of  day  at  the 
mine-mouth.  He  put  on  his  coat  (which  he  had 
again  wrapped  about  her  poor  feet  and  ankles), 
and  threw  fresh  fuel  on  the  fire,  by  which  he  pro 
ceeded  to  poll  out  and  restore  to  usefulness  her 
dried  and  stiffened  shoes  and  stockings.  She  sat 
up  in  her  low  niche,  vainly  trying  to  reduce  her 
clothes  to  some  kind  of  order.  Day  had  dawned, 
and  she  no  longer  cared  what  became  of  him  — 
or  of  herself. 

There  he  was,  in  all  his  undisguised  vulgarity. 
Coarse  and  shabby,  base  and  ignorant,  egotistical 
and  boorish,  glorying  in  qualities  he  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of ;  possessed  by  sordid  greed,  and  — 
ammonia! 

He  brought  her  her  shoes  and  stockings  and 
silently  gave  them  to  her  to  put  on. 

"  Miss  Sparrer,"  he  began,  awkwardly  ;  "  it 
must  be  past  four  o'clock  —  I  guess  I  '11  swim  th' 
river  naow  V  make  fer  hum." 

He  paused  to  see  if  she  had  any  objection. 
She  made  none,  so  he  continued,  — 

"  Th'  woods-fire  's  burnt  itself  plum  aout,  so  's 


ANNE   COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED.    225 

ye  kin  git  t'  th'  road  at  th'  ferry  —  er  wherever  ye 
like  —  V  McVey  he  '11  pick  ye  up  as  he  comes 
by.  'Course  ye  '11  tell  him  I  swum  th'  river." 

"Yes." 

"  'N'  ye  hain't  no  call  t'  tell  him  jest  when  I 
swum  it." 

"  No." 

Then  he  walked  a  little  way  down  the  bank, 
turned,  and  came  back  and  picked  up  his  carved 
iron-wood  stick. 

"  Bid  ye  good-day,  Miss  Sparrer." 

He  walked  rapidly  toward  the  river,  and,  find 
ing  a  hollow  log,  thrust  the  cane  into  it  out  of 
sight,  and  walked  on  without  it.  He  reached  the 
river  and  began  to  cross,  wading  most  of  the  way 
over  before  he  came  to  the  channel,  where  it  was 
too  deep  to  reach  bottom.  She  remembered  with 
languid  wonder  that  he  had  not  even  shaken 
hands  with  her  at  parting.  Then  she  saw  him 
begin  to  swim,  and  could  see  only  his  head  as  he 
drifted  down-stream.  She  asked  herself  if  she 
should  care  if  it  disappeared  under  the  surface, 
and  felt  doubtful  of  the  answer.  She  even  remem 
bered  to  wonder  if  the  saving  of  the  ferriage  was 
not  an  equivalent  to  him  for  the  discomfort  of  his 
cold  swim,  and  concluded  that  it  probably  was. 
The  head  did  not  disappear ;  she  saw  him  emerge 
on  the  opposite  shore,  take  off  his  coat,  wring  out 
the  water,  and  put  it  on,  then  turn  and  wave  his 
hand  to  her,  to  which  cool  greeting  she  made  no 
response. 

The  way  back  to  the  wagon-road,  over  the  black 


226  ZURY. 

ushes  of  last  night's  fire,  though  it  had  seemed  so 
long  in  the  smoky  darkness,  seemed  absurdly  short 
now.  When  she  reached  the  track  (the  fences 
being  all  burned)  she  could  scarcely  believe  it  to 
be  the  road  she  was  looking  for,  and  even  pushed 
across  it  and  further  away,  but  was  recalled  by 
seeing  McVey  approach  with  the  team.  He 
evidently  hardly  knew  her.  She  was  not  young 
enough  to  look  well  in  desliabillS,  and  now  her 
bedraggled  condition,  her  pale  face  and  swelled 
eyelids,  and  her  changed  expression,  all  combined 
to  make  her  look  fully  ten  years  older  than  she 
looked  yesterday. 

«  Why  —  Miss  Sparrow  !  The  nation  !  That 
can  never  be  you  !  Where  in  the  world  did  you 
pass  the  night  ?  " 

44  In  the  mouth  of  the  coal-mine." 

44  Heavens  and  earth  !  Is  that  so  ?  And  where  's 
—  where  's  Mr.  Prouder  ?  " 

44  He  swam  the  river  and  went  home." 

44  Just  fancy  ?     And  left  you  all  alone?  " 

"Yes  —  left  me  all  alone." 

44  If  that  ain't  like  him,  I'll  give  up.  And 
your  gown  is  as  good  as  gone  up.  You  do  look  like 
the  last  of  pea-time  !  " 

He  jumped  down  and  helped  her  in,  but  it  was 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  that  reminded  her  of 
the  ridicule  she  had  suffered  from  the  picnic 
fiends  of  yesterday;  and  her  unspoken  thought 
was, 44  Idiot !  if  it  rids  me  of  you,  I  don't  care  how 
I  look."  The  little  feminine  rage  did  her  good. 
She  shrouded  herself  in  the  horse-blankets  as  well 


ANNE   COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED.    227 

as  she  could,  and  they  crossed  the  ferry  unno 
ticed. 

u  Could  you  drive  back  to  the  school-house  with 
out  going  through  Wayback  ?  " 

"  Sure-ly  !  The  woods-road 's  the  shortest,  if 
you  don't  mind  being  shaken  up  some." 

She  did  n't  mind,  and  they  soon  arrived  at  the 
school-house  without  meeting  any  one,  much  to 
McVey's  relief,  in  the  present  state  of  Anne's 
personal  appearance.  Not  that  his  inclination  for 
her  was  crushed,  but  then  he  was  afraid  somebody 
would  laugh  at  her  and  him.  Thus  he  lost  his 
one  precious  chance  of  being  lover-like  and  chival 
rous,  a  chance  he  might  have  improved  by  treat 
ing  her  as  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world  just  when 
she  felt  as  if  she  were  the  very  —  cheapest. 

So  as  they  drew  up  to  the  school-house,  he  ven 
tured,  baldly  and  stupidly  :  — 

"  When  shall  it  be  ?  " 

44  When  shall  what  be?" 

"  Why,  our  —  marriage." 

"  Never ! " 

"  Are  n't  we  engaged  ?  " 

"  No !  Go  away !  I  never  want  to  see  you 
again  —  or  anybody!"  And  she  went  in  and 
slammed  the  door.  Soon,  however,  she  opened 
it  again,  and  seeing  him  still  there,  looking  almost 
idiotically  downcast,  she  said :  — 

"Oh,  Mr.  McVey"  — 

He  looked  up. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  polite  attention  !  "  She 
essayed  a  smile  —  rather  a  rueful  effort. 


228  ZURY. 

He  brightened  up  at  once. 

44 The  pleasure's  mutual,  Miss  Sparrow,"  and 
he  drove  off  quite  rehabilitated. 

Oh,  the  relief  of  home  —  even  such  a  home  as 
that  —  and  of  Sunday  —  even  such  a  Sunday  as 
that!  She  took  off  her  dreadfully  mussed  gar 
ments  ;  ran  her  hands  into  the  silk  stockings, 
noticing  the  little  mended  places  she  had  darned 
so  long  ago  —  was  it  possible  that  it  was  only 
yesterday  ?  —  and  after  removing  some  of  the  traces 
of  disaster,  she  walked  over  to  the  kind  Ansteys' 
for  a  cup  of  hot  tea  and  some  of  the  boiled  eggs 
which  were  now  known  to  be  her  great  staple  of 
food.  The  Ansteys  had  both  seen  and  smelt  the 
smoke  of  the  woods-fire,  and  Anstey  had  gone 
betimes  to  the  tavern  for  news. 

"  I  faound  Zury  Praouder  in  th'  office  t'  the  tah- 
vern ;  he  'd  clum  in  through  th'  winder  arter  all 
the  folks  hed  gone  t'  bed,  V  slep'  all  night  in  a 
cheer.  He  told  me  all  abaout  the  fire,  V  him  a 
leavin'  yew  in  the  maouth  o'  the  drift ;  V  I  sez  t' 
him,  sez  I,  4  Zury,  ye  'd  oughter  stayed  with  her  if 
it  cost  yer  a  leg ;  she  's  so  dog-goned  skeery  in  th' 
dark ; '  V  s's  he,  '  Wai,  she  'llaowed  she  wuz  willin' 
fer  t'  hev  me,  go  'n'  so  I  come.' '! 

"  Yes ;  I  told  him  to  come  away." 

"  Wai,  haow  'd  ye  git  along  all  night  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  Dreadfully  !  "  and  she  shuddered  from 
head  to  foot. 

"  Ah,  yah  !  Wha'  'd  I  tell  ye  ?  Ye  warn't  so 
strong  's  ye  thort  ye  wuz  !  " 

"  No  —  I  was  horribly  weak  !  What  else  did 
he  tell  you  ?  " 


ANNE   COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED.    229 

"  Wai,  that  's  the  heft  on  it.  He  got  some 
breakfast,  V  lit  aout  fer  hum.  Said  McVey'd 
fetch  ye  over  all  right  this  mornin'.  'N'  here  ye 
be!  All's  well  't  ends  well!  But  he  'd  orter  a 
stud  by  yer." 

"Yes,  he  should  have  stood  by  me  —  and  he 
would  if  I  had  insisted  on  it,  I  suppose." 

"  Don't  ye  wish  ye  hed  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  too  tired  an'  sick  to  care  much 
about  anything,  except  to  go  to  bed  and  sleep  — 
forever !  " 

"  Sick,  be  ye  ?  Wai,  naow,  thar  's  that  thar  fits 
med'cine  never  ben  used  yit "  — 

"No,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Anstey,  I  haven't  got  fits 
yet.  I'll  just  go  home  and  get  to  bed.  Good 
bye!"  And  she  departed. 

She  threw  herself  on  her  bed  and  hid  her  face 
in  her  pillow.  How  long  she  cried  she  knew  not, 
but  blessed  sleep  came  at  last.  "  Oh,  if  sleep 
could  only  last  forever !  "  was  her  first  waking 
thought. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  she  was  aroused  by  a 
knock  at  her  door.  She  asked  who  was  there,  and 
recognized  Prouder's  voice  in  reply.  She  told  him 
to  wait  a  moment :  then  first  smoothed  her  hair 
at  her  little  mirror,  and  afterward  took  down  the 
school-bell  rope  from  the  nail  where  it  usually 
hung  out  of  reach,  and  drew  her  chair  near  to  it, 
and  at  last  let  Zury  come  in. 

She  saw  at  once  that  he  was  very  much  dis 
turbed  in  spirit. 

"  I  jest  ben  acrost  the  river." 


230  ZURY. 

She  saw  that  he  had  —  also  that  he  had  swum 
his  horse  and  saved  the  ferriage. 

"  Yes :  I  'llaowed  I  'd  jest  go  over  'n'  see  haow 
things  wuz.  Cur'us  enough  —  I  could  n't  find  my 
stick  I  left." 

"  Gone !  Could  anybody  passing  have  seen 
it?" 

"No,  not  possible.  Couldn't  a-found  it  'thout 
the'  'd  seen  me  put  it  thar." 

"  And  if  anybody  did  see  you  "  — 

A  long  pause  followed  this  suggestion. 

"Yew  see  me  put  it  thar." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  you." 

Zury  looked  at  her  keenly,  She  suddenly  per 
ceived  that  he  was  thinking  of  the  possibility  of 
her  using  that  mute  witness  as  an  ally  to  prove  a 
"common  law  marriage"  against  his  will!  The 
blood  rushed  to  her  face  and  the  fire  to  her  eyes. 

u  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  She  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  glared  as  if  she  would  have  flown  at  him  —  as 
she  would  if  her  strength  had  been  equal  to  her 
anger.  He  to  fear  a  marriage  with  her,  and  to 
suspect  her  of  plotting  to  force  him  into  it. 

"  Sho,  sho !  Thar,  naow !  I  did  n't  mean 
nothV.  Did  n'  know  but  what  ye  monght  a  took 
it  t'  walk  with,  'n'  thro  wed  it  away  soine'ers." 

She  was  slightly  appeased,  but  still  flushed  and 
panting.  Then  she  sat  down  again,  and  said, 
slowly,  almost  inaudibly  : — 

"  Well  but,  Mr.  Prouder  —  suppose  anybody  did 
see  you  put  it  there  —  perhaps  "  — 

"  Jesso,  jesso.     If  the'  did !  " 


ANNE   COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED,    231 

Another  anxious  silence  followed  this  sugges 
tion  ;  she  torn  with  conflicting  emotions. 

"  Wha"d  ye 'llaow  t' dew?" 

"  Nothing." 

44  NothV  no  time  ?  " 

"  No  ;  go  back  East,  perhaps." 

"  Wai,  naow  !  "  A  great  sigh  of  relief  accom 
panied  this  explanation,  which  showed  the  dis 
gusted  girl  that  he  hoped  to  escape  his  share  of 
the  responsibility. 

"  Of  course  I  have  your  promise  to  help  me  all 
through." 

"  Oh  —  of  course,  of  course  !  "  And  he  rubbed 
his  eyes  and  frowning  brow  in  perplexed  discom 
fort.  "  Ye  know  scule  's  aout  nex'  month." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Perhaps  you  may  as  well  pay 
me  what  money  you  owe  me." 

"  Money  !  "     A  gasp. 

"  Yes,  the  money  I  lent  you,  with  the  interest." 

"  Oh !  Tew  be  sure  !  Might  's  well  settle  it 
up  right  naow,  if  it  wa'  n't  Sunday." 

"  I  guess  its  being  Sunday  won't  hurt." 

"Wai  —  ef  ye'd  come  a  leetle  furder  from  the 
winder  —  in  case  anybody  sh'd  see." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  stay  here.  You  can  go  to  the  desk, 
if  you  like.  I  can  do  the  interest  in  my  head." 

"No!  Sho!  Kin  ye,  though?"  (This  with 
a  smile  of  returning  comfort  and  admiration.) 
"  Wai,  naow,  sposin'  I  wuz  t'  pay  ye  fer  this 
quarter  's  well 's  the  rest." 

"  Very  well. " 

"  Mebby  I  '11  not  git  it  in  fer  six  weeks  er  more. 


232  ZURY. 

So  that  '11  make  us  abaout  squar  on  the  int'rest 
matter,  wun't  it?  " 

"  No." 

"Why?  'Course  ef  ye  dror  money  afore  it's 
due  —  V  I  pay  it  aout  afore  I  git  it  "  — 

"  Have  you  any  school  money  on  hand  ?  " 

*'  Wai  —  I  hain't  figgered  up.  I  mought  have 
a  leetle,  'n'  then  agin  I  mought  n't.  But  if  I  hev, 
I  've  a  right  t'  keep  it  'n'  use  it." 

"  Well,  give  me  the  other,  and  let  this  quarter 
go  for  the  present ;  till  I  get  back  from  the  East." 

"  Oh,  if  ye  're  set  on  goin'  East  sure  enough  " 
(this  with  a  long  breath  of  relief  and  hope),  "  I 
would  n't  trouble  ye  t'  come  away  back  h'yer  jest 
t'  git  a  little  money." 

44  Just  as  you  like."  She  saw  that  he  was 
afraid  of  her  still. 

He  calculated  the  interest,  and  after  some  discus 
sion  they  agreed  upon  the  amount,  and  he  paid  her. 

"  Naow  would  ye  mind  a-givin'  me  a  receipt  for 
all  debts,  dues  'n'  demands,  claims  'n'  accaounts  of 
every  name  and  natur?" 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  the  slightest  objection." 

She  went  to  her  desk  and  wrote  a  quittance 
that  even  he  could  find  no  fault  with. 

"  Naow  we  're  good  friends,  ain't  we  ?  " 

44  Same  as  ever." 

"  Ye  don't  think  hard  o'  me  f er  —  nothin'  ?  " 

44 1  don't  blame  you  for  anything  !  Not  the 
least  little  bit  in  the  world!  " 

And  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  and  began 
racing  down  her  cheeks  like  mad  before  she  could 


ANNE  COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED.    233 

even  wipe  them  away.  It  was  for  herself  that  she 
was  heart-broken  —  that  she  should  have  nobody 
to  blame. 

The  strong  man  was  also  quite  moved.  He 
tried  to  dry  her  tears ;  but  this  recalled  her  to  her 
self-restraint,  and  she  froze  toward  him  at  once. 
Finding  that  he  had  his  arm  on  the  back  of  her 
chair,  and  observing  indications  of  aggressive  in 
terest,  she  rose  and  grasped  the  bell-rope.  The 
bell  gave  a  low  warning  clang  at  the  touch. 

"  Wha  —  what  ye  doin'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  sometimes  ring  this,  and  Uncle  Anstey 
comes  right  over." 

"  Hum  —  ha !  Wai,  ye  are  —  as  I  said  before  ! 
Wai ;  I  mus'  be  a-goin !  Fare  ye  well,  Miss 
Sparrer,  ef  so  be 's  I  'm  not  t'  see  ye  agin ;  an'  it 's 
likely  I  wun't.  I  wish  ye  well !  " 

And  so  without  a  hand-shake  they  parted,  she 
wishing  she  were  dead. 

Zury  grew  very  downcast  on  his  way  home. 

"  Sakes  alive  !  What  could  n't  she  dew  if  she 
had  a  mind  ter  ?  Kin  it  be  th't  she  's  a  reg'lar 
schemer?  That's  th'  idee  I  hed  a-comin'  over  — 
th't  she'd  ben  a-layin'  fer  me  all  this  time  — 
mock^marr'ge  'n'  all  —  'n'  we  all  fooled  by  her 
fr'm  the  word  go.  But  she  ain't  —  I  know  that 
if  I  know  anythin'.  I  'd  bet  my  life  on  her,  even 
arter  all 's  said  'n'  done  !  She  's  honest,  square, 
open,  'n'  above-board,  so  fur  as  her  present  inten 
tions  goes  —  but  then  !  S'posen  she  sh'd  change 
her  mind ! " 

He  fairly  groaned  and  perspired  as  he  thought 


234  ZURY. 

of  the  possibilities.  He  felt  as  if  the  Peddicomb 
farm  belonged  to  him  already,  and  some  one  was 
trying  to  rob  him  of  it !  To  be  sure,  she  proposed 
to  go  away  soon,  and  to  hold  her  tongue  mean 
while.  But  suppose  she  did  not  do  so!  He  had 
lied  as  to  the  time  when  he  crossed  the  river  — 
appearances  were  all  against  him. 

"  Jes  gimme  a  week,  V  I  '11  fix  that  marr'ge 
question  fer  keeps  !  I  '11  marry  Flory  aout  o' 
hand !  But  mebbe  she  wun't  gimme  no  week ! 
Ner  no  twenty-four  hours,  nuther  !  'T  would  n't 
take  but  an  afferdavy  t'  fix  me  fer  life !  Mebbe 
she  's  half  way  up  t'  the  squire's  a'ready  !  Oh 
Lordy,  Lordy !  Why  did  n't  I  offer  her  money 
—  a  hundred  dollars,  er  say  fifty !  " 

He  even  went  so  far  as  to  turn  his  horse  back 
toward  the  school-house,  but  before  he  had  gone 
ten  steps  he  bethought  himself  of  the  reason  why 
he  had  not  offered  her  money :  it  was  because  she 
was  Anne  Sparrow,  and  because  of  her  look  and 
voice  when  she  said,  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Away 
from  her  he  had  forgotten  these  things,  but  now 
he  once  more  saw  her  as  in  his  secret  heart  he  felt 
that  she  was  —  a  woman  above  sordid  schemes. 

"  Mebbe  I  kin  help  her  along  East  'thaout  its 
costin'  me  nothin'.  Lessee,  lessee  —  haow  kin 
that  be  worked  ?  "  And  his  mind  ran  off  on  this 
less  disquieting  train  of  thought. 

Next  day  John  McVey  came  to  see  Anne. 
(Tuesday  was  his  regular  day.)  He  observed  her 
melancholy  with  much  sorrow  and  sympathy,  and 
did  all  he  could  to  —  increase  it.  His  was  too 


ANNE   COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED.    235 

weak  a  nature  to  lead  hers,  just  weak  enough  to 
follow  it  like  a  spaniel.  Instead  of  attacking  the 
enemy  in  blue,  as  Zury  would  have  done,  he  at 
once  took  sides  with  sadness,  that  being  the 
stronger  of  the  combatants  ;  and  in  his  visits  dur 
ing  the  trying  days  now  ensuing  he  was  such  a 
monument  of  woe  that  Anne  felt  almost  gay  by 
comparison.  She  might  have  laughed  at  him  if 
she  could  have  laughed  at  anything.  John  did 
not  again  broach  the  subject  of  marriage.  Still, 
his  silent  constancy  was  far  from  being  a  discom 
fort  to  the  poor,  feeble  girl,  whose  weakness  and 
wretchedness  only  increased  as  the  slow  days 
wore  on.  On  Thursday  Anne  learned  that  Zury 
and  Flora  Peddicomb  were  married.  Zury  had 
effected  his  second  nuptials  in  the  same  business 
like  fashion  which  had  marked  his  first.  Her 
heart  sank  still  lower  in  her  breast  as  she  lis 
tened  to  the  news. 

By  Sunday,  Anne  knew  that  she  was  again  in 
the  hands  of  the  Philistines.  Somebody  had  seen 
Zury  leave  the  mine,  had  stolen  his  carved  stick, 
had  told  the  story.  Fully  half  the  women  in  the 
little  congregation  had  no  words  and  no  eyes  for 
her ;  while  some,  the  Ansteys  and  a  few  others, 
tried  to  make  up  by  marked  cordiality  for  the  in 
sulting  distance  of  the  rest.  Vain  effort!  Put  a 
sensitive  woman  in  a  community  with  even  one 
hearty  enemy,  and  the  world  is  spoiled  for  her. 
It 's  an  omelet  with  one  doubtful  egg ! 

Fast  and  furious  through  all  this  week  raged 
the  factional  warfare  about  the  half-conscious,  half- 


236  ZURY. 

ignorant  school-teacher.  Her  friends  urged  that 
nothing  was  proven  against  her ;  her  enemies  truly 
said  that  nothing  was  proven  in  her  favor.  That 
this  latter  charge  was  fatal,  in  a  majority  of  minds, 
is  emblematic  of  the  state  of  feeling  in  such  com 
munities. 

"  Let  alone  this  last  job ;  what  d'  we  know 
abaout  her  afore  she  come  h'yer?  Wha"d  she 
come  fer  ?  Who  's  she  told  whar  she  wuz  V  what 
she  wuz  abaout  afore  she  started  ?  Sh'  hain't  told 
me  —  hez  she  told  yew?  If  not,  who  in  thunder 
hez  she  said  a  word  tew  ?  " 

To  this  damning  assault  of  raging,  unsatisfied 
curiosity,  Zury  on  one  occasion  stoutly  urged  :  — 

"  Dunno  's  she  'd  any  cause  t'  talk  t'  me,  ner 
yew,  ner  any  on  us,  abaout  her  own  affairs.  She  's 
arn't  her  pay  honest,  if  ever  a  gal  did  ;  V  sh'  ain't 
m'lested  nobody." 

No  answer  was  then  and  there  given  to  this 
plea,  but  glances  were  exchanged  which  said 
plainly,  though  mutely,  what  was  spoken  out  in 
words  as  soon  as  the  redoubtable  Zury  was  ab 
sent:  "Least  said  by  Zury  Prouder  jist  naow, 
th' better!" 

"  Ya-as  !  "  "  Yew  bet."  "  Ye  better  b'lieve 
that 's  so ! "  came  from  grinning  and  nodding 
enemies.  "  'N'  besides,"  added  another,  "  mebbe 
she  's  a  Universalist !  " 

"  True  fer  yew,  Gabe !  Sh'  hain't  made  no  per- 
fesh'n  's  nobody  knows  on.  Did  n't  fetch  no  dis 
missal  papers  fVm  no  constituted  minister  o'  th' 
gospil,  that  she 's  ever  hed  the  civility  t'  'xhibit 
in  this  neck  o'  woods  ! ' 


ANNE   COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED.    237 

This  capped  the  climax.  This  cast  a  pall  of 
"  odium  theologicum  "  over  both  Anne  and  Zury, 
enfolding  them  together,  and  therefore  adding  a 
double,  triple  zest  to  the  joy  of  striking  at  both. 

"  What  business  's  she  in  aour  scule-haouse 
outer  school  hours  I  wonder  !  Who 's  let  it  t'  hei 
fer  a  lodgin' ;  V  who  gits  th'  rent ;  'n'  haow  dooz 
he  c'lect  it?" 

"  Jesso,  jesso,  Gabe  !  I  'llaow  aour  money  paid 
fer  thet  scule-haouse,  'n'  I  'llaow  th'  ain't  no  one 
man  's  ben  auth'rized  t'  rent  it  aout  —  not  as 
nobody  knows  on  s'  far  's  heerd  fr'm,  up  t'  last 
accaounts." 

"  Action  o'  forcible  entry  'n'  detainer  'd  lie,  I 
reckon,"  suggested  another  man,  who  had  himself 
been  ousted  by  Zury  from  a  rented  farm,  under 
the  summary  provisions  of  "the  statute  in  that 
case  made  and  provided." 

"  No  'casion  fer  no  action,  I  reck'n.  Leastways 
no  action  at  law." 

"  I  fer  one  'd  vote  fer  jest  a  rippin'  aout  all  them 
boards  —  not  techin'  no  property  o'  hern  nuther !  " 

The  shrewd  Zury,  though  he  never  knew  any 
thing  but  vague  rumors  concerning  this  confab, 
saw  plainly  that  his  personal  interests  were  almost 
identical  with  Anne's  in  the  whole  matter,  and  he 
had  no  difficulty  in  influencing  his  bride  in  the 
same  direction.  She  had  all  a  bride's  confidence 
in  her  new  husband.  Probably  she  did  not  think 
deeply  enough  to  see  that  her  own  married  hap 
piness  depended  on  Anne's  good  name ;  all  she 
thought  or  cared  was  that  Zury  said  it  was  all 


238  ZURY. 

right,  and  that  Anne  had  always  been  good  to  her, 
and  was  now  helpless  and  forlorn. 

One  afternoon  Anne  was  startled  at  seeing 
Flora  at  her  door,  on  foot  and  alone.  She  opened 
it  and  stood  silent. 

"  Haowdy,  haowdy,  Miss  Sparrer  !  " 

"  Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Prouder.  Will  you  — 
will  you  come  in  ?  " 

"  Wai,  yes,  I  guess  I  '11  stop  a  bit.  Zury  he 's 
druv  on  t'  Wayback  on  s'm  business,  'n'  'llaows 
t'  call  fer  me  a-goin'  hum." 

So  she  stepped  in  and  sat  down.  A  large,  stout, 
"humbly"  creature :  the  flat  figure  of  a  man,  the 
face  of  an  overgrown  child,  and  the  heart  of  a 
woman  —  a  newly  married  woman,  just  called  into 
unhoped-for  happiness. 

"  Be  ye  peart  ?  Ye  don't  look  it.  Look  like 
ye  hed  a  fit  o'  sickness  sence  I  sor  ye." 

"  No,  I  am  far  from  well." 

"  What 's  ailin'  ye  ?  Ye  dew  look  good  'n' 
sick ! " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  at  all !  I  can  neither  eat  nor 
sleep  ;  and  I  'm  tired  day  and  night."  The  blood, 
which  had  all  left  her  face  at  the  first  sight  of  her 
visitor,  now  came  back  in  a  flood. 

"  Dew  tell !  I  wanter  know  !  "  said  the  other, 
in  a  sympathetic  voice.  "  Hain't  ye  tuk  no  physic 
fer  it  ?  The'  's  a  good  doctor  t'  Wayback  naow,  I 
've  hearn  tell." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  never  have  a  doctor,  nor  take 
medicine,  you  know." 

"  Jesso,  jesso  !     It 's  a  wonder  ye  've  got  along 


ANNE   COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED.     239 

's  well 's  ye  hev  !  I  hope  ye  hev  n't  let  these  yer 
foolish  talkers  hev  no  'ffect  on  yer !  " 

The  poor  sufferer  could  stand  it  no  longer ;  the 
interview  was  so  different  from  what  she  had 
feared,  the  relief  was  so  timely  and  so  grateful, 
that  she  burst  into  tears  once  more,  and  sobbed  as 
if  her  heart  would  break.  The  good-hearted  Flora 
brought  her  chair  up  close,  and  against  Anne's 
shuddering  protests  put  her  stout  arms  about  her 
and  drew  her  head  down  on  her  shoulder  ;  patting 
and  comforting  her  like  a  baby. 

But  few  words  passed  between  them,  and  those 
of  little  consequence.  When  Zury  called  for  his 
wife,  the  women  parted  with  mutual  expressions 
of  good-will. 

44  Remember,"  said  Flora,  as  she  climbed  awk 
wardly  into  the  wagon  by  means  of  the  chair 
Anne  held  for  her,  "  ye  promised  t'  consult  thet 
thar  new  doctor,  fust  chance  ye  git ! " 

"  Oh,  yes  —  I'll  consult  him,  to  please  you, 
whether  I  take  his  physic  or  not." 

44  Well  —  I  bid  ye  good-day,  V  God  bless  V 
keep  ye ! " 

44  Thank  you,  thank  you.  Good-bye ! "  And 
they  drove  off. 

44  Goin'  t'  consult  the  doctor,  is  she  ? "  said 
Zury. 

"  Yes,  she  is ;  'n'  it 's  a  God's  marcy  ef  it  ain't 
tew  late,  tew  !  Them  ornery  tattle-tales'  lies  hez 
brought  her  t'  death's  door,  'n'  I  dunno  but  whut 
it 's  goin'  t'  be  th'  last  on  her,  poor  thing  !  "  Then, 
after  a  long  pause,  during  which  Zury  kept  an 


240  ZURY. 

unwonted  silence,  "  She  can't  seem  t'  git  no  gal 
t'  stop  with  her  naow  —  tho'  't  ain't  a  month 
sense  the'  wuz  all  a-waitin'  fer  their  turn  !  Th' 
ornery  cowards !  Th'  ain't  let  t'  come  no  more, 
so  th'  ain't !  " 

"B'  ain't  they?" 

"  No,  th'  ain't !  She  's  a-stayin'  t'  th'  Ansteys' !  " 

"  Is,  is  she  ?  " 

"  Yes.  'N'  I  jest  begged  'n'  begged  her  t'  come 
right  up  t'  our  'us,  but  she  wuz  stubborner  'n  a 
muel.  She  jest  would  w'£." 

"  Would  n't,  would  n't  she  ?  What  reason  'd 
she  give  ?  " 

"None  at  all.  She  just  put  her  foot  daown  't 
she  would  n't." 

"Hmm!" 

Anne  set  her  little  domicile  in  order  and  pre 
pared  to  go  over  to  the  Ansteys'.  Being  afraid 
either  to  leave  her  purse  in  the  lonely  school- 
house,  or  to  carry  it  with  her  through  the  lonely 
woods,  she  had  devised  a  hiding-place  for  it  in  a 
hole,  excavated  by  some  kindly  woodpecker  of  a 
past  season,  in  the  tall  stump  of  a  dead  tree  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  door ;  a  nook  wherein  she 
would  pop  it,  as  she  passed,  so  deftly  that  even  if 
one  had  been  walking  by  her  side  he  would  hardly 
have  observed  that  she  moved  her  hand.  And 
there  she  always  found  it  safe  next  morning. 
Having  done  this,  among  her  other  accustomed 
little  ways,  she  walked  on  to  the  Ansteys',  cogi 
tating,  with  some  restful  relief,  the  visit  she  had 
had  from  Flora. 


ANNE   COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED.    241 

At  tea  she  was  more  talkative  than  she  had 
been  of  late,  and  even  managed  to  "  pick  a  bit," 
as  Anstey  expressed  it.  She  detailed  Mrs.  Proud- 
er's  visit  with  the  warm  gratification  it  deserved, 
and  added  the  information,  which  she  knew  would 
please  Mrs.  Anstey,  that  she  had  promised  to  con 
sult  the  doctor. 

"  Ah,  yah !  I  sh'  think  it  wuz  time  !  Ef  it 's 
in  time  !  Yew  jest  mark  my  words :  ef  he  '11  give 
ye  a  sleepin'  paowder  V  a  eatin'  paowder  —  good 
strong  ones,  no  odds  what  the'  cost  —  ye '11  sleep 
fer  tew  days,  'n'  eat  all  the'  is  aout,  fust  chance 
ye  git !  See  ef  ye  don't.  'N'  don't  ye  ferget  t' 
mention  th'  fits  med'cine,  tew.  Mebbe  he  '11  tell 
ye  t'  take  that  tew.  It 's  good  med'cine,  I  don't 
misdoubt.  Mus'  be !  Th'  dose  ain't  but  three 
drops  !  " 

Anne  promised.  Then  she  confessed  to  a  sleep 
iness  that  had  been,  alas,  unusual  of  late  in  her 
experience,  and  got  to  bed  and  to  sleep  "  as  early 
as  other  folks." 

A  little  later,  when  the  old  man  was  himself 
ready  to  retire,  he  was  startled  by  a  bright  light 
over  toward  the  school-house,  that  cast  a  red  glow 
on  that  part  of  the  sky. 

"  Heavens  'n'  arth !  Be  they  a-doin'  on  it? 
Kin  the'  be  sech  ornery  heathens  in  this  c'munity  ? 
The'  be  —  sure  's  yer  born  !  " 

"  Wai,  what  next  ?  Shall  I  call  her  ?  No  !  Do 
no  good.  It 's  tew  late  t'  dew  anythin'.  Oh 
Lord  !  Lord  !  Hev  mercy  on  us  all  —  on  all  but 
them  's  hez  done  this  thing  —  let  them  feel  thy 


242  ZURY. 

wrath  'n'  thy  burnin'  —  's  they  will  in  thy  good 
time!  Amen!" 

Meantime  he  was  hurrying  down  the  road  in 
the  dim  hope  of  snatching  some  shred  or  patch 
of  poor  Anne's  belongings  from  the  hungry 
flames.  But  before  he  had  gone  far  he  saw  ad 
vancing  a  straggling  band  of  masked  men  on  horse 
back,  who  at  the  same  time  perceived  him  and  drew 
hastily  together  for  consultation.  Then  one  of 
them  called  out  in  a  voice  obviously  disguised :  — 

"  Halt  there !  O'  man  Anstey,  ye  jest  git  fer 
home,  quick  's  God  '11  let  ye.  Ye  can't  dew  no 
good,  'n'  ye  '11  come  t'  harm  ef  ye  stir  a  step  fur- 
der." 

"  I  don't  halt  fer  no  murderin',  burnin'  thieves; 
not  's  long  's  I  'm  on  my  way  t'  save  the  prop'ty 
of  a  poor,  friendless  gal !  Yew  kin  jest  add  mur 
der  tew  yer  arson,  soon  's  ye  like." 

"  We  don't  want  t'  harm  ye,  ef  ye  be  th'  friend 
o'  that  thar  scarlet  woman  o'  Babylon  "  — 

"  Ye  're  a  liar,  Gabe  Funk,  'n'  I  know  yer,  'n' 
I  kin  prove  it  on  yer !  Ye  ornery  whelp  !  Burn 
the  taown  scule-haouse,  would  ye,  ye  ornery  blag- 
gard!" 

The  first  speaker  was  now  cowed  and  silent, 
and  even  turned  and  galloped  off  in  the  contrary 
direction,  amid  the  jeering  laughter  of  his  com 
panions.  But  another  spoke  in  his  stead  :  — 

44  We  hain't  burnt  no  scule-haouse,  ner  no 
prop'rty  b'longin'  t'  th'  gal.  We  jest  smashed 
aout  s'm  boards  th't  didn't  never  hev  no  business 
in  the  scule-haouse ;  'n'  we  fixed  'em  so  th'  could 


ANNE   COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED.    243 

n't  be  put  back  nuther,  'thaout  ye  kin  build  a 
p'tition  aouter  ashes.  'N'  it's  all  done,  V  th' 
fire  's  aout,  near  abaout ;  's  ye  kin  see  fer  yerself, 
ef  ye  only  use  yer  old  eyes  !  " 

44  Wai  —  ef  it 's  all  over,  wha'  'd  ye  want  ter 
keep  me  away  fr'm  it  fer  ?  The  cuss  as  shets 
o'  man  Anstey  offen  the  public  highway,  a  road 
as  he  's  put  in  his  road-tax  on  same  's  the  rest  — 
why,  he 's  got  ter  kill  him  fust,  that 's  all !  "  And 
he  resumed  his  walk  as  though  they  were  not 
there.  They  silently  divided  their  rank  and  let 
him  pass. 

At  the  school-house  Anstey  found  things  as  the 
rioters  had  said.  They  had  carried  the  lumber  to 
a  safe  distance  from  the  house  before  burning  it, 
and  had  even  taken  some  care  to  shut  and  barri 
cade  the  door  to  defend  Anne's  belongings  —  all 
safe  inside,  so  far  as  the  old  man  could  judge.  So 
he  went  home  to  bed. 

Next  morning  he  broke  the  news  to  the  family, 
but  waited  till  after  breakfast  to  say  anything 
about  it  to  Anne. 

"  The'  's  ben  a  misdoin'  with  aour  scule-haouse, 
Miss  Sparrer,  last  night." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

44  Wai  —  folks  thought  same  's  we  dew  :  't  ye 
better  stay  t'  ol'  Anstey's.  So  th'  went  V 
busted  up  the  new  p'tition  all  t'  flinders,  so  the' 
did,  'n'  burnt  the  stuff." 

Anne  sat  white,  rigid,  silent. 

44  The'  did  n't  tech  a  hand  t'  noth'n'  o'  yourn. 
I  see  th'  light,  arter  ye  wuz  in  bed  'n'  asleep,  'n'  I 


244  ZURY. 

went  over,  V  thar  it  wuz ;  the  p'tition  all  carr'd 
aout  'n'  burnt,  rn'  yer  things  all  set  aside  fer  ye, 
'n'  the  door  closed  up  agin  same  's  the'  faound  it." 

Well  —  what  difference  did  it  make  to  her? 
What  could  it  make  ? 

But  oh  !  It  did  make  a  difference  !  To  think 
that  a  lot  of  people  hated  her  and  her  ways,  and 
despised  her  well-meant  efforts  to  be  good  to  them 
and  make  them  like  and  respect  her !  After  all, 
it  did  not  add  much  to  her  knowledge  of  how 
some  of  the  community  felt  toward  her. 

"I  see'd  'em  —  th'  ornery  whelps!  —  'n'  the' 
wuz  n't  but  six  on  'em  all  told  —  seven  includin' 
one  pup  th't  run  away  's  quick  's  I  tol'  him  I 
knowed  him." 

"  Naow,  Miss  Sparrer,"  said  Mrs.  Anstey,  "  ye 
mus'  n't  go  fer  t'  'llaow  we  'm  all  heathens  h'yer 
abaouts.  'T  ain't  so ;  'n'  I  would  n'  wonder  if 
these  h'yer  ornery  limbs  o'  Satan  wuz  t'  find  aout 
the  diff'runce  afore  th'  week  's  aout." 

"  Doan't  ye  be  a  mite  set  back,"  added  the  old 
man.  "  Ef  ye  take  my  'dvice,  ye '11  go  right  over 
t'  the  scule-haouse,  n'  act  so  's  nobody  would  n't 
never  guess  the'  'd  ever  ben  a  p'tition  thar.  Keep 
shady  'n'  see  what  turns  up." 

"Well,  I  will  try,"  said  the  poor  girl,  and 
started  over  toward  her  wrecked  kingdom  and  des 
ecrated  throne. 

On  approaching  the  spot  she  observed  a  few 
neighbors,  brought  over  by  sympathy  or  curios 
ity.  The  former  class  remained,  while  the  latter 
silently  withdrew  as  she  approached. 


ANNE   COMPROMISED  AND  PERSECUTED.    245 

Her  heart  swelled  and  rose  to  her  throat,  but 
she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  until  she 
came  near  the  door,  then  cast  one  glance  around 
and  —  fell  forward  on  the  ground,  insensible. 

All  hurried  up,  and  lifted  her  to  the  doorstep, 
where  in  a  minute  she  revived  and  opened  her 
eyes  —  piteously  wandering  at  first,  then  gradu 
ally  focusing  themselves  on  the  faces  about  her. 
She  leaned  forward  as  soon  as  she  was  able,  and 
separated  the  by-standers  so  she  could  look  at  the 
heap  of  ashes  and  embers ;  then  sank  back,  cov 
ered  her  eyes  with  her  hands,  and  whispered 
faintly :  — 

44  My  money  !     It  was  hidden  in  that  tree  !  " 

The  marauders  had  piled  their  fire  around  the 
dead  stump,  and  that  had  burned  with  the  rest. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PANDORA'S    BOX,  WITH   HOPE   AT   THE   VERY 
BOTTOM. 

THE  first  drop  of  balm  came  for  poor  Anne's 
wounds  when  there  arose  a  reactionary  storm  of 
public  indignation  against  the  perpetrators  of  the 
school-house  outrage.  Those  zealots  of  the  stake 
and  fagot  had  confidently  expected  to  be  greeted 
by  God-fearing  citizens  with  approval,  evidenced 
by  unusual  nods  and  hand-grasps,  accompanied 
with  winks  and  smiles.  This  is  the  frontier  sub 
stitute  for  trial  and  acquittal  of  "  vigilance  com 
mittees," —  otherwise  jocularly  known  as  "neck 
tie  sociables," — where  public  enemies  are  by 
"  lynch  law "  quietly  put  out  of  the  way  "  be 
tween  two  days."  But  here,  man  after  man,  fam 
ily  after  family,  made  haste  to  disclaim  part  or 
lot  in  the  mean,  sneaking  deed  which  had  robbed 
a  poor  girl  of  her  all.  In  vain  the  amazed  con 
spirators  said  to  each  other,  "  We  did  n'  never  go 
fer  t'  dew  that !  "  They  were  even  debarred  the 
pleasure  of  saying  this  to  anybody  except  each 
other,  for  it  would  have  "  give  away  "  the  fact 
that  the  burning  was  their  doing. 

Already,  as  Anne  wandered  about  her  former 
home,  the  signs  of  a  revulsion  of  popular  feeling 
began  to  make  themselves  manifest.  She  had 


PANDORA'S  BOX.  247 

forgotten  that  school  was  to  "  keep  "  that  day,  as 
usual,  until  she  saw  an  unaccustomed  concourse  of 
scholars  about  her,  such  as  reminded  her  of  the 
palmy  days  before  her  troubles  began.  She  at 
first  thought  that  they  were  impelled  by  morbid 
curiosity  to  look  at  a  rare  and  exciting  scene ;  but 
she  soon  observed  indications  of  other  and  better 
motives.  Some  of  the  mothers  arrived  with  their 
daughters,  and  one  brought  a  basket  of  provisions, 
with  the  simple  explanation  that  she  believed  it 
was  her  daughter's  turn  to  stay  the  week ;  ignor 
ing  the  fact  that  it  had  been  her  turn  some  weeks 
ago,  and  she  had  been  one  of  the  bitterest  critics. 
But  Anne  was  too  much  disturbed  to  care  for  an 
apology,  and  also  not  a  little  solaced  by  the  con 
cession,  ungracious  and  imperfect  as  it  was. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  you  see  how  things  are. 
The  partition  is  gone  "  — 

"  Hain't  ye  got  no  spare  beddin'  t'  hang  up  jes' 
raoun'  yer  tew  beds,  set  clust  t'gether  ?  "  She 
had  seen  this  expedient  for  privacy  so  often  tried 
that  it  seemed  to  her  the  simplest  thing  in  the 
world.^ 

"  Why,  yes  —  if  I  had  any  lines  to  hang  up 
some  quilts." 

"  Oh,  grape-vines  is  better  'n  lines,  n'  matter 
haow  many  ye  hed!  Oh,  brother  Anstey  !  Hi, 
yew,  boy  !  Go  tell  Mr.  Anstey  t'  come  h'yer  a 
minute." 

So  Anstey  was  called  away  from  his  bootless 
(and  shoeless)  quest  among  the  embers  for  the 
ashes  of  Anne's  little  store  of  bank-notes ;  and 


248  ZURY. 

between  them  arrangements  were  soon  made 
for  stretching  the  necessary  grape-vines  across 
where  the  partition  had  been.  Anne  and  her 
friends  were  to  occupy  the  place  again  in  spite  of 
of  the  black  scheme  to  drive  her  from  it. 

Oh,  if  she  could  feel  a  little  of  her  old  strength 
and  courage  !  Every  mole-hill  was  now  a  moun 
tain  to  her,  every  cobweb  a  thrall.  As  soon  as 
school  was  dismissed  she  really  surrendered  all 
her  old  principles  of  skepticism  and  started  for 
the  village  to  see  the  doctor;  accepting  a  "lift" 
from  the  first  wagon  that  came  along. 

To  her  suprise  Anne  found  the  new  physician 
to  be  a  person  of  education,  principle,  and  dignity: 
one  of  the  class  of  men  who  have  now  so  largely 
taken  the  place  of  the  old  style  quacks,  pretenders, 
self-promoted  farriers,  and  such  trash  who  had  the 
fields  and  the  grave-yards  to  a  large  extent  under 
their  grimy  thumbs  in  the  "  early  days." 

He  knew  her  by  reputation,  and  knew  the 
cruel  loss  she  had  sustained  only  the  night  before, 
so  he  quietly  put  aside  the  question  of  a  fee  when 
she  raised  that  matter,  and  begged  her  to  go  on 
with  her  case. 

Their  conference  was  long,  and,  it  may  be  sup 
posed,  painful.  When  it  was  over  he  looked  very 
grave,  and  she  —  deathly.  There  is  no  milder 
term  to  do  justice  to  her  appearance. 

The  same  wagon  that  had  brought  her  to  Way- 
back  carried  her  home  again.  She  had  herself 
set  down  at  the  Ansteys,  to  get  a  little  bit  of  love 
—  without  it  she  thought  she  should  die  at  once. 


PANDORA'S  BOX.  249 

These  were  her  most  faithful  friends  and  adher 
ents.  Eureka  had  grown  to  be  a  quite  presentable 
girl  under  Anne's  effortless  influence ;  tall,  grace 
ful,  large-eyed,  and  large-hearted.  And  such  de 
votion  !  Her  heart's  blood  was  ready  for  her  dear 
teacher.  The  old  man  was  devoted  too,  in  his 
rough  way. 

"  Tears  like  that  thar  temp'runce  barbecue  'd 
be  the  death  on  ye,  arter  all !  No  wonder,  crazy 
's  yew  be  in  the  dark,  t'  be  alone  in  a  coal-mine  all 
night,  'mongst  the  snakes  V  lizards,  an"1  the  world 
a-burnin'  up  aoutside  !  Thut  thar  ornery  Zury 
Praouder  he  's  got  right  smart  t'  answer  fer.  But 
yew  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip  'n'  yer  nose  full  o'  wind, 
V  ye  '11  weather  it  yit.  See  'f  ye  don't !  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  '11  get  over  it  —  some  day  and 
somehow." 

Anne  told  of  her  having  visited  the  new  doctor, 
and  that  he  had  not  prescribed  for  her. 

"  Did  n'  give  ye  no  physic  ?  "  almost  screamed 
Mrs.  Anstey.  "  Wai,  I  don't  think  no  gre't 
shakes  o'  him ! " 

The  old  woman's  estimation  of  Anne  had  always 
been  much  interfered  with  by  the  latter's  unchris 
tian  "  viws  "  on  physic.  Medical  heresy  is  so  very 
like  to  blasphemy.  And  now  the  new  doctor  was 
turning  out  a  heretic,  too ! 

"  Ye  see  what  yer  no-docterin'  comes  tew.  Ef 
ye 'd  a  let  me  docter  ye  up  a  bit!  Naow  the' 's 
right  smart  o'  that  fits  med'cine  left  —  more  'n 
tew  dozen  doses,  I  reckon.  I  give  some  on  it, 
'baout  a  teaspoonfle,  t'  a  hawg  th't  wuz  a-ailin', 


250  ZURY. 

but  I  could  n't  save  her.  She  wuz  dead  in  less 
'n  a  minute.  Mebbe  I  gin  her  tew  much  —  mebbe 
not  enough.  Mos'  likely  it  wuz  tew  late  t'  dew 
her  any  good.  'D  orter  tried  it  in  time.  Naow 
would  n't  ye  like  t'  jest  try  it  ?  Ye  can't  tell 
whether  er  no  it'll  knock  yer  complaint  till  ye 
jest  try  it." 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  should  be  afraid  to  try 
it.  Or  —  not  exactly  afraid  "  —  a  sigh.  "  I  've 
nothing  to  fear  now,  except  living" —  Then 
with  a  sudden  fire  :  "  Yes,  you  may  give  it  to 
me.  Perhaps  I  '11  take  it.  Perhaps  it  '11  cure  all 
my  troubles." 

"  Thar  naow.  It  dooz  me  good  t'  h'yer  ye  talk 
like  a  Christian  arter  all.  Thar  't  is :  ye  '11  find 
the  d'rections  on  the  lay-bill  —  three  drops  in  a 
spoonfle  o'  water.  Ye  're  right  welcome  tew  it, 
tew." 

So  Anne  said  good-by  all  round,  kissing  often 
and  long  the  weeping  Eureka,  and  telling  her,  in 
the  hearing  of  them  all,  that  if  there  was  any 
thing  left  at  the  school-house  when  she  was  gone 
it  was  to  be  Eureka's.  No,  she  could  n't  say  just 
what  day  she  should  go,  after  school  closed,  nor 
when  they  would  see  her  again.  But  some  day 
—  yes,  of  course  in  ample  time  to  begin  school 
again  in  the  fall  —  if  the  directors  wanted  her. 
The  chorus  of  indignant  protests  at  this  doubt 
brought  only  a  wan  smile  to  her  wasted  features. 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Anstey,  have  you  seen  Mr. 
Prouder  lately  ?  " 

"  Seen  him  yest'd'y  ;  hain't  sor  him  to-day." 


PANDORA'S  BOX.  251 

"  Well,  it  does  n't  matter.  Good-bye  !  Good 
bye  !  "  and  she  dragged  her  slow  steps  toward  the 
school-house,  only  to  find  that  her  proposed  com 
panion  had  got  tired  of  being  alone  and  had  gone 
home.  So  she  was  left  to  herself.  She  sat  down 
to  think  over  the  situation.  What  should  she  do  ? 
What  could  she  do  ?  She  held  her  hideous  little 
vial  in  her  hand,  studying  the  dirty  label,  thinking 
—  thinking.  Then  she  took  the  remains  of  her 
poor  dotted  muslin  and  the  one  slipper,  and  made 
of  them  a  funeral  pyre,  ou  which  she  burned  up 
certain  old  letters  —  not  her  mother's  —  and  a 
package  wherein  she  had  many  newspaper-clip 
pings  ;  all  the  book-notices  and  other  things  of 
hers  which  had  ever  met  the  dubious  honor  of 
print.  She  cried  softly  as  they  burned. 

After  this  and  a  very  few  other  lingering  prep 
arations  for  departure,  she  sat  down  out-of-doors 
on  a  rude  seat  the  boys  had  made  for  her  by  her 
little  flower-bed,  and  poured  the  whole  contents 
of  the  vial  into  her  one  tablespoon. 

How  grim  appear  the  portals  of  death  unless 
approached  through  the  long,  dim  antechamber 
of  hopeless  and  wasting  disease,  of  vitiating  dissi 
pation,  or  of  kindly,  disengaging  old  age  !  Let 
those  answer  who  have  faced  it  in  the  prime  and 
flush  of  manhood. 

She  smelled  of  the  dreadful  dose  —  incredibly 
odious  !  She  touched  it  with  the  tip  of  her  tongue  ; 
and  that  settled  at  least  one  question,  for  such  a 
shudder  ran  down  her  back  and  out  through  her 
limbs  to  the  very  tips  of  her  fingers  and  toes,  that 


252  ZURY. 

the  nauseous  drug  all  spilled  out  of  the  spoon  on 
the  grass. 

Anne  rose  and  "  took  herself  in  hand."  She 
looked  at  the  house,  at  the  trees,  at  the  sky,  com 
pressing  her  thin  lips  and  clenching  her  slender 
hands  strenuously  together. 

"  I  am  no  suicide  !     I  am  no  murderess  !     I  am 
a  New  England  woman !     I  owe  life  to  the  world* 
and  the  world  owes  life  to  me.     Both  debts  shall 
be  paid ! " 

She  went  into  the  school-house,  packed  a  few 
things  in  a  satchel,  locked  the  door,  and  walked 
all  the  way  to  Way  back,  where  McVey  had  the 
satisfaction  of  accommodating  her  with  a  room. 
Seeing  that  he  lingered  pensively  about  the  door 
while  she  laid  aside  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  she 
asked  him  to  come  in  and  be  seated. 

"  Did  you  wish  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Well  —  Miss  Sparrow,  you  can  guess  all  I  've 
got  to  say.  I  've  been  tellin'  you  the  story  ever 
since  I  met  you,  and  suppose  I  shall  keep  on  tellin' 
it  right  along." 

" 1  should  think  you  would  have  got  over  that 
foolish  feeling,  now  that  I  am  such  a  wreck  in 
every  way." 

"  Get  over  it !     Never !  " 

"  You  do  not  know  all."  She  hid  her  tired 
eyes  in  her  handkerchief,  and  shed  a  few  more  of 
the  hot  tears  to  which  they  had  grown  so  sadly 
accustomed.  "  I  may  be  a  widow  for  all  you  know. 
Or  a  divorced  woman  —  or  a  deceived,  betrayed, 
deserted  girl.  You  know,  I  am  sure,  that  I  could 


PANDORA'S  BOX.  253 

not  have  been  deliberately  and  intentionally  — 
bad.  I  don't  see  how  any  woman  of  common 
sense  could  be  that,  let  alone  common  principle." 

"  I  don't  ask  any  questions.  I'm  so  downhearted 
at  the  idea  of  you  East  and  me  left  here  "  —  and 
he  actually  cried. 

"  A  sickly,  useless  invalid  would  be  enough  to 
discourage  even  a  rich  man  —  and  you  are  not 
rich,  I  suppose." 

"  Well,  no  ;  not  to  be  called  wealthy  at  present. 
The  trouble  I  have  found  to  be  the  want  of  cap- 
itle.  If  I  only  had  capitle,  I  should  no  doubt 
progress.  When  I  started  out,  I  had  a  little 
capitle,  from  an  aunt,  but  it  was  n't  enough,  and 
when  it  was  gone  I  could  n't  get  any  more  ;  and 
there  it  was,  you  see  !  Since  then  I  've  cast  about 
in  vain  —  all  for  the  want  of  capitle." 

"  Nor  any  income  either,  I  presume?  " 

"  In  point  of  fact,  none  to  speak  of.  I  find  that 
parties  who  might  be  willin'  to  furnish  capitle  are 
invariably  those  who  have  none  of  their  own, 
while  those  who  hold  capitle  to  any  great  extent 
are  without  exception  un willin'  to  part  with  it 
even  in  cases  where  it  is  most  needed,  indispen 
sable,  I  may  say  —  like  my  case  for  instance." 

"  To  whom  have  you  applied  out  here  for  assist 
ance?" 

"  Well,  I  did  approach  Mr.  Prouder  on  the 
subject  of  capitle." 

"  Did  he  offer  you  any  large  sum  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  he  did.  He  did  n't  seem  to  grasp 
the  subject.  In  fact  I  was  somewhat  disappointed, 


254  ZURY. 

for  when  he  first  began  to  reply  he  put  his  hand 
in  his  pocket ;  and  said  he,  '  Young  man,  I  '11  give 
you '  -  —  and  then  keepin'  his  hand  in  his  pocket 
he  went  on,  4  a  piece  of  advice.  If  you  want  capitle 
you  slave  for  it  and  shave  for  it  and  save  for  it, 
same  as  I  did.'  Now  this  discouraged  me  a  good 
deal,  seein'  his  disinclination  to  entertain  a  broad 
comprehension  of  my  situation." 

"  You  did  not  mention  —  anything  else  ?  " 

"  Well,  no.  Seein'  he  did  n't  seem  to  grasp  the 
subject,  I  did  n't  get  round  to  it ;  though  when  I 
commenced,  my  intention  was  to  mention  that  we 
were,  so  to  speak,  engaged  to  marry." 

"Well,  we  are  not.  I  am  not  well  and  you 
are  not  rich,  so  that  settles  it.  Now,  I  would  like 
to  see  Mr.  Prouder  whenever  he  happens  to  pass 
this  way." 

It  was  not  long  before  she  learned  that  Zury 
had  been  at  the  tavern  and  gone  away  again ; 
when  told  that  she  wanted  to  see  him,  he  had  said 
that  he  had  not  time  to  stay  that  day,  and  did  not 

J  J  " 

know  just  when  he  should  pass  that  way  again. 

Her  courage  still  rose  to  the  occasion.  She 
wrote  Zury  a  polite  note  to  the  effect  that  she 
would  call  at  his  house,  if  it  would  be  out  of  the 
way  for  him  to  come  to  Wayback ;  or  could  he 
conveniently  be  at  the  school-house  on  Saturday 
afternoon  ?  If  she  did  not  find  him  there  she 
could  walk  on  to  the  farm  as  well  as  not. 

The  days  passed,  Saturday  came,  and  she  walked 
slowly  to  the  school-house.  Hearing  the  door,  she 
found  Zury  sitting  in  a  quiet  place  near  by.  In- 


PANDORA'S  BOX.  255 

stead  of  feeling  stronger  at  the  sight  of  his  strength 
she  felt  weaker ;  a  longing  for  his  aid  to  her  faint 
ing  steps  seized  upon  her  with  irresistible  force. 
She  must  have  it ! 

"  Howdy,  Miss  Sparrer  ?  Glad  t'  see  yer  a 
lookin'  so  —  wha  —  what's  all  this?  Where  'n 
the  nation  's  the  rest  on  ye  gone  tew  ?" 

She  unlocked  the  door,  and  dragged  herself 
languidly  to  her  old  seat  by  the  bell-rope,  motion 
ing  him  to  a  chair  near  by.  He  did  not  sit:  he 
clutched  his  hands  tightly  together  behind  him 
and  gazed  at  her  with  flushed  face  and  wide-open 
eyes.  When  the  silence  grew  insupportable  she 
said  in  a  piteous  tone :  — 

u  I  give  up  !     I  've  given  up  forever  ! " 

"  Sho,  sho,  naow !  That  wun't  never  dew ! 
Never  in  the  world  ! " 

"  A  lonely  girl,  hated  and  hunted  by  people  I 
never  harmed ;  homeless,  penniless,  pointed  at ; 
almost  ashamed  to  show  my  face  ;  and  sick  —  sick 
—  sick  to  death's  door !  Which  way  can  I  turn  ?  " 

Zury  would  have  liked  to  say,  "  Turn  which 
way  ye  min'ter,  fer  all  me."  He  had  been  able 
to  say  so  in  times  past,  firmly ;  and  to  hold  to  it, 
too.  But  here  he  was  amazed  to  find  that  he 
could  not.  The  words  stuck  in  his  throat.  He 
almost  wanted,  already,  to  talk  the  other  way ! 

"  The  next  question  is,  being  homeless  and 
penniless,  am  I  friendless,  too?  " 

"The'  'so'  man  Anstey." 

"A  pauper." 

"  The'  's  Johnny  McVey." 


256  ZURY. 

"  A  helpless  fool."     A  long  pause. 

"  Then  the'  's  Zury  Prouder  "  — 

"  No  pauper  and  no  fool  —  but  may  be  no  friend 
either  —  after  all  his  promises  —  and  all  that's 
past!"  The  last  words  sadly  reproachful. 

Another  silence  followed,  embarrassing  to  both, 
but  agonizing  to  Zury. 

"  I  tell  you  one  thing,  and  swear  it,  too  —  if  I 
must  die,  it  will  be  in  a  way  that  will  startle  this 
community  !  " 

"  Die,  Miss  Sparrer  !  " 

"I  said  so." 

"  Oh,  Lord  !  what  kin  I  dew?  Ye  know  folks 
is  couplin'  my  name  an'  yourn  t'gether  a'ready  — 
V  the'  '11  dew  it  more." 

"  Yes,  we  are  both  talked  about,  I  hear.  Now, 
am  I  to  die  in  despair,  and  you  to  live  on  as  happy 
and  prosperous  as  ever  ?  Why  don't  they  burn 
you  out  and  leave  me  alone  ?  Why  do  they  attack 
the  defenseless  ?  " 

"  Way  o'  the  world,  I  s'pose.    /can't  change  it." 

"  You  can't  stir  hand  or  foot  for  justice  or  — 
mercy?"  A  minute  of  silence.  "Did  you  ever 
promise  to  stand  by  me  ?  Are  you  a  man  or  a 
cowardly  dog  ?  " 

Zury  repeated  the  question  aloud;  not  as  re 
torting  upon  her,  but  as  setting  a  problem  before 
himself.  "  Be  I  a  man  er  a  cowardly  dog  ?  Is 
Zury  Praouder  a  man  er  a  dog?"  Another  pause. 
"  Miss  Sparrer,  I  Ve  oilers  j edged  myself  a  man  ; 
naow  we'll  see  —  we'll  see  —  we'll  see,"  and  he 
sat  long,  staring  at  her  and  conning  the  problem. 


PANDORA'S  BOX.  257 

"Wha'd'  ye'llaowt'dew?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Wha'  'd'  ye  'llaow  t'  say  ?  " 

"The  truth.  Whether  I  live  or  die,  the 
truth." 

"  Ye  's  good  's  tol'  me  wunst,  a-settin'  in  that 
very  cheer,  that  ye  worn't  a-goin'  t'  say  noth'n'." 

tfc  I  never  gave  my  word  —  and  if  I  had  I 
would  n't  keep  it  now  —  since  things  have  so 
changed." 

"  Ye  'llaowed  ye  did  n't  blame  me  nary  mite." 

44 1  did  n't  and  I  don't  blame  you.  Now  whom 
do  you  blame  for  all  that 's  happened  ?  Me  ?  " 

Silence. 

"  Maybe  you  are  the  meanest  man  that  lives  in 
Spring  County,  or  in  the  whole  world,  or  ever 
did  live  !  And  yet  —  somehow  —  I  can  hardly 
believe  it." 

"  I  be,  I  guess.  But  I  ain't  mean  enough  fer 
that.  Not  quite  mean  enough  fer  that !  " 

"  Then,  if  I  am  no  more  to  blame  than  you 
are,  must  I  bear  all  the  trouble  and  say  nothing  ? 
I,  a  helpless  girl  ?  I  guess  not !  And  what 's 
more,  I  know  not !  " 

"  Haow  '11  ye  prove  anythin'  ?  " 

"  How  will  I  prove  what  I  say  ?  I  will  just 
ask  Zury  Prouder  if  Anne  Sparrow  is  a  liar! 
What  will  he  answer  ?  " 

After  a  pause  she  added,  pleadingly,  with  some 
thing  nearer  a  smile  than  she  had  yet  ventured 
to  try  :  "  I  shan't  have  to  prove  anything  —  nor 
charge  anything.  It  won't  come  to  that.  You 


258  ZURY. 

will  stand  by  me,  whatever  happens  !  "  Still  his 
silence  left  her  in  doubt  —  despairing  doubt.  She 
repeated,  very  gently  :  "  You  '11  stand  by  me  !  " 
and  slid  softly  to  her  knees  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

"  Miss  Sparrer  !  Ef  ye  think  I  won't  stand  by 
ye,  ye  're  wuss  fooled  than  ye  ever  was  afore  in 
yer  life!  Er  ever  will  be!  Yew  hear  me!" 
(Taking  her  hands  and  raising  her  to  her  seat 
again.)  "  Yew  hear  me !  Zury  Praouder,  the 
me-anest  man  in  Spring  Caounty ;  he  's  the  man 
'11  dew  that  thing  ef  it  takes  th'  last  critter  he  's 
got  onter  th'  place  !  " 

As  he  said  this,  he  listened  to  his  own  voice  in 
wonder  —  almost  in  dismay.  What  was  coming 
over  him  ?  But  he  did  not  retract,  nor  even  for 
an  instant  regret. 

At  last  the  sufferer  could  smile  a  little.  A  real 
smile ;  not  one  of  those  pretended  ones  of  the 
past  weeks,  which  were  sadder  than  tears  to  look 
at.  She  gave  him  her  hand  —  so  thin  and  white 
that  the  light  seemed  to  shine  through  everywhere 
save  where  the  blue  veins  obstructed  it;  and  he 
took  it  gently  and  held  it  a  moment.  He  would 
have  kissed  it,  only  he  did  not  know  how. 

As  he  walked  homeward,  on  his  solitary  way, 
his  heart  felt  warmer  and  softer  than  it  had  since 
his  children  died.  He  wondered  if  he  was  the 
same  man  or  somebody  else,  and  concluded  that 
a  change  had  come  over  him  of  which  he  was 
glad  —  but  might  be  sorry  to-morrow. 

If  he  was  changed  it  was  not  very  radically, 


PANDORA'S  BOX.  259 

for  he  soon  began  planning  and  plotting  how  to 
keep  his  word  and  do  his  manly  duty  without  its 
costing  him  anything  ;  a  scheme  in  which  he  of 
course  succeeded,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter. 

And  Anne  ?  Let  her  speak  (to  herself)  for 
herself :  — 

"  ffow  —  may  he  perform  his  promise  :  and  then 
may  I  never  see  his  face  again  !  " 

The  new  preacher,  Elder  Masten,  —  a  fresh 
graduate  from  a  theological  seminary,  but  a  "Son 
of  Thunder,"  and  a  man  of  large  natural  power, 
—  on  the  Sunday  following  the  burning,  "im 
proved  the  occasion  "  in  a  stinging  sermon  from 
the  text :  "  He  that  taketh  the  sword  shall  perish 
by  the  sword." 

Anne  was  not  able  to  drag  herself  to  church, 
but  it  would  have  done  her  good  to  hear  the  ser 
mon,  and  still  more  to  hear  the  public  comments 
during  the  dispersion  of  the  congregation.  The 
cruel  murder  of  Lovejoy  at  Alton,  by  a  pro-slavery 
mob,  was  fresh  in  the  minds  of  both  pastor  and 
people.  It  barbed  his  shafts  and  prepared  their 
hearts. 

The  sword  —  that  is  to  say  any  violence, 
whether  with  arms  or  with  fire  or  any  other  ele 
ment  of  destruction  —  is  excusable,  justifiable, 
praiseworthy,  necessary;  —  provided  it  is  the  All- 
wise  who  wields  it.  And  when  it  is  the  Provi 
dentially  ordained  system  of  human  government 
which  wields  it,  it  is  still  God  who  destroys  ;  He 
using  the  system  as  His  agent  to  do  His  work. 


260  ZURY. 

But  when  it  is  poor,  weak,  erring  men  who  ap 
peal  to  it,  cloaking  themselves  with  darkness, 
and  shielding  themselves  with  silence  and  dis 
guise,  then  are  they  playing  they  are  God  !  The 
crawling  worm  lifts  his  blind  and  slimy  head,  and 
says,  "  Vengeance  is  mine  ;  I  will  repay  !  " 

Beginning  thus,  Hasten  inveighed  for  a  full 
hour,  while  women  wept  and  men's  eyes  shone 
with  indignation,  their  hearts  beating  hard  and 
fast  in  the  heat  of  the  preacher's  unstudied  elo 
quence. 

After  the  sermon  Masten  announced  that  he 
hoped  for  a  full  attendance  at  Wednesday  evening 
prayer  meeting,  when  steps  would  be  taken  look 
ing  toward  making  good  to  sister  Sparrow  the  loss 
she  had  suffered. 

The  people  crowded  around  the  preacher  as  he 
came  out,  shaking  hands  most  cordially,  and  giv 
ing  their  adhesion  to  his  views.  Then  they  sepa 
rated  by  ones,  twos,  and  threes,  talking  together 
as  they  went. 

"  Gee  Whillikins  !  Did  n't  preacher  give  it 
tew  'em  right !  " 

"  Yew  bet !  I  wish  't  he  had  a-dwelt  a  leetle  on 
th'  4  perish  by  the  sword '  part  of  th'  tex  !  " 

"As  haow?" 

"  Why,  he  mought  a  come  t'  th'  conclusion  th't 
't  was  abaout  time  fer  th'  perishin'  t'  begin  !  'T 
would  n'  take  but  a  whisper  fr'm  preacher  t' 
wipe  aout  them  fellers  offen  th'  face  o'  th'  arth 
—  leastways  aouter  th'  baound'ries  o'  Spring 
CaountyJ " 


PANDORA'S  BOX.  261 

This  suggestion  had  a  great  run  of  popularity 
until  it  reached  Masten's  ears,  when  he  promptly 
nipped  it  —  just  in  time. 

"  What!  Preach  against  unlawful  violence  in 
one  breath  and  blow  an  avenging  fire  with  the 
next  ?  Set  up  myself  for  the  Deity  —  I  who  am 
the  poorest  worm  in  the  clod  ?  " 

This  killed  the  inchoate  movement,  and  some 
what  abashed  its  leader,  but  he  said :  — 

"  All  th'  same,  ef  I  wuz  Gabe  Funk  I  'd  insure 
my  barn." 

"  Yes,  'n'  ef  I  wuz  th'  insurance  comp'ny  I 
would  n't  issue  no  policy  ontew  it !  " 

Then  the  conversation  turned  on  the  projected 
relief-meeting. 

"  I  hain't  got  no  money,  but  I  '11  give  a  good 
hawg." 

"So '11  I." 

"  Me  'n'  my  two  sons  '11  throw  in  a  yearlin' 
calf." 

"  That 's  talkin' !  Let 's  dew  it  up  right.  It  11 
kinder  take  the  cuss  offen  the  taownship." 

"  Wonder  haow  much  Zury  Proauder  '11  give  !  " 

"  He  'd  orter  throw  in  a  good  jag  o'  ready 
money.  But  he  wun't." 

"  Yew  bet  he  wun't !  Bet  ye  he  don't  come  t' 
th'  meetin'  at  all !  " 

They  were  wrong.  Zury  was  there,  with  his 
wife  —  and  Squire  Brown.  They  found  the 
movement  going  on  swimmingly.  The  most 
threatening  trouble  was  an  embarrassment  of 
riches  :  for  how  was  Anne  to  drive  away  a  drove  of 


262  ZURY. 

hogs,  a  herd  of  calves,  a  flock  of  chickens,  ducks, 
and  geese,  and  a  load  of  "truck,"  with  hardly 
enough  ready  cash  to  feed  them  for  a  week  ? 

As  soon  as  the  meeting  came  to  order,  Mr. 
Masten  in  the  chair  and  Mr.  McVey  secretary, 
Zury  moved  that  a  committee  of  three  be  ap 
pointed  by  the  chair  to  consider  the  matter  which 
had  called  them  together,  and  report  at  the  next 
Wednesday  evening  meeting. 

Murmurs  of  dissent  arose  on  all  sides.  "  Told 
ye  Zury  he  'd  squirm  aouter  it  somehaow." 

"  Blame  me  ef  that  ain't  jest  like  Zury  !  It 's 
him  t'  find  a  patent  plan  fer  not  a-givin'  nothin'." 

Old  Anstey  got  up  first. 

"  I  move  that  that  motion  don't  pass.  All 's  in 
favior  of  it 's  not  a-passin'  — "  here  the  Chair 
called  him  to  order,  and  reminded  him  that  as 
brother  Prouder's  motion  was  not  yet  seconded  it 
was  not  open  for  discussion. 

"In  order  to  open  the  subject  for  discussion," 
said  the  politic  Squire  Brown,  "  and  for  no  other 
purpose,  I  second  it." 

"  Then  we  '11  hear  from  brother  Prouder  in 
support  of  his  motion,"  said  the  chairman. 

So  Zury  said  :  — 

"  Mr.  Chairman.  If  the'  's  any  man  h'yer  or 
elsewhar  th't  's  more  opposed  t'  vi'lence  th'n  I  be, 
I  dunno  th'  man.  'N'  ef  ther  's  a  man  h'yer  er 
elsewhar  th't 's  more  disposed  t'  stand  by,  and  see 
through,  a  pilgrim,  'n'  a  stranger,  'n'  a  sojourner, 
th'n  I  be,  I  dunno  thet  man  nuther.  Ef  Miss 
Sparrer  wuz  h'yer,  I  sh'd  call  on  her  freely  t'  say 


PANDORA'S  BOX.  263 

ef  I  've  shown  myself  her  friend  sence  she  come 
in  these  h'yer  parts  —  er  otherwise." 

Some  pious  smiles  passed  between  the  gossip- 
ers  at  this  unwary  burst  of  confidence. 

"  But  let 's  see  who  owes  her  all  this  money. 
I  '11  pay  my  sheer,  every  time.  Who  's  li'ble  t' 
Miss  Sparrer  fer  what  wuz  destroyed  o'  hers  last 
week?" 

Here  more  indignant  murmurs  burst  forth,  and 
even  found  a  mouthpiece.  Brother  Bromwell  put 
in  his  oar  —  he  who  always  felt  so  sore  under 
Prouder's  dictation. 

"  Who  owes  it  ?  Why  seven  men  't  yew  know 
's  well  's  I  dew,  Zury  Praouder !  'N'  then  tew 
yew  know  's  well 's  I  dew  th't  the'  can't  nothin'  be 
proved  agin  'em !  'N'  yew  know  's  well  's  I  dew 
th't  if  ye  c'd  prove  fortyleven  hunderd  dollars 
agin  'em  ye  could  n'  c'leck  not  forty  cents  aouter 
th'  hull  bilin'  on  'em,  so  ye  couldn't ! " 

Bromwell's  last  words  were  lost  in  a  storm  of 
foot-stamping  applause.  (The  Wayback  public 
had  learned  to  applaud.)  Encouraged  by  it  he 
went  on. 

"  I  move  th't  this  h'yer  meetin'  don't  want  no 
body  t'  help  it  aout  th't  wants  t'  try  t'  help  it  by 
a-henderin'  on  it." 

Here  the  chairman  again  made  peace  by  re 
minding  the  brother  that  there  was  one  motion 
before  the  meeting,  and  it  would  be  soon  enough 
to  consider  another  when  that  one  should  have 
been  voted  on.  Zury  meanwhile  kept  his  feet, 
setting  his  face  in  the  hard  level  lines  that  marked 
the  "  bed-rock  "  of  his  brave  nature. 


264  ZURY. 

"  Who  said  those  seven  men  owed  this  money  ? 
Not  me  !  Them  ornery  whelps  they  ain't  capable 
of  owin'  ner  payin'  no  more  'n  any  other  haoun's 
pup.  Naow  ef  brother  Omri  Bromwell  ain't  sat 
isfied  with  my  'thority,  I  '11  call  on  brother 
Braown." 

So  the  Squire  arose  and  said  that  at  brother 
Prouder's  request  he  had  looked  into  the  ques 
tions  of  law  involved  in  "this  h'yer  burnin','' 
and  finding  that  three  or  more  persons  had  un 
lawfully  conspired  together;  and  together  with 
force  and  arms  had  violently  assaulted  and  in 
jured  the  property  of  a  person  in  the  peace  of  the 
county ;  the  offence  amounted  to  a  riot,  and  the 
county  was  pecuniarily  responsible  to  the  injured 
party. 

This  was  a  staggerer.  But  brother  Bromwell 
came  again  to  the  rescue. 

"  S'posin'  the'  be  a  action  agin  the  caounty  fer 
damages  ;  what 's  the  good  of  sech  a  scheme  fer  t' 
help  Miss  Sparrer?  It's  jest  a  dodge  t'  put  her 
off  'thaout  her  a-gittin'  nothin',  ner  any  caliber 
some  folks  t'  putt  the'r  han's  in  the'r  hard-hearted 
pockets."  And  he  looked  daggers  at  Prouder. 

This  brought  Zury  up  again. 

"  Be  I  a  man  o'  my  word  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Be  I  a  man  't  keeps  his  promises?" 

Then  a  voice  came  from  a  back  seat,  — 

"  Oh  yes  —  on'y  ye  don't  never  make  none,  not 
afore  witnesses."  A  burst  of  laughter  greeted 
this  sally. 


PANDORA'S  BOX.  265 

u  I  guess  my  promises  '11  fetch  's  much  in  open 
markit  as  his'n  th't  spoke  last."  He  paused  for  a 
laugh,  but  none  came.  "Wai,  I  hev  t'  propose 
th't  I'll  advance  th'  amount  of  Miss  Sparrer's 
claim,  V  look  t'  Spring  Caounty  fer  my  pay ! " 
And  he  sat  down. 

A  moment's  pause  was  required  to  take  in  the 
full  sense  of  this;  then  there  came  a  round  of 
stamping  in  which  all  joined  —  everybody,  of  all 
shades  and  tones  of  feeling.  Anne  was  to  get  her 
money  —  they  were  to  save  theirs  —  in  short,  Zury 
the  Great  bad  triumphed  once  more.  He  was 
made  the  committee  to  attend  to  it  all. 

This  was  the  closing  week  of  the  school;  so 
the  relief  would  come  in  good  time.  What  joy  it 
was  to  the  Ansteys  to  communicate  the  good  news 
to  poor  Anne ! 

"  Dunno  what 's  come  over  Zury !  S'pose  he 
knows  which  side  his  bread 's  buttered  ontew ; 
but  then  —  t'  pay  out  good  money  V  buy  in  a 
lawsuit  —  thet  ain't  like  Zury,  not  a  mite." 
Anne  reddened  in  silence.  "  Naow,  Miss  Spar- 
rer,  I  look  t'  see  ye  gain  a  paound  a  day,  at  th' 
very  least.  Want  ye  fat  enough  t'  kill,  'n'  then 
not  kill  ye  —  that 's  th'  way  t'  treat  prize  live 
stock  like  yew  be !  " 

"I  wish  it  could  be  so,  Mrs.  Anstey  —  but  it 
cannot ;  not  in  this  climate.  I  must  get  away, 
orMie  on  your  hands." 

"  Wai,  God  speed  ye  ef  so  it  must  be !  Any- 
haow,  ye  're  fixed  naow  so  ye  kin  go ;  'n'  thet 's  a 
massy  if  ye  got  t'  go  er  die.  Most  on  us  in  sech 


266  ZURY. 

a  case  'd  a  lied  ter  dew  th'  other  thing.  Oh,  ef 
thet  thar  pertend  docter  'd  only  a  guv  ye  some 
good  strong  physic !  Of  all  things  I  dew  dispise, 
it's  a  docter  th't's  afear'd  t'  give  his  own  physic! 
What 's  he  fer,  dooz  he  s'pose  !  Ah  yah  !  " 

School  had  closed,  and  Anne's  regular  abiding 
place  now  was  at  the  tavern.  The  independence 
and  leisure  suited  her  very  well  indeed.  She  could 
go  on  with  her  recuperation  very  nicely,  barring 
two  disquieting  circumstances.  The  first  was  the 
perpetual  propinquity  of  John  Endicott  McVey 
and  Hopeless  Passion,  his  Siamese  twin.  This 
was  not  a  severe  trial ;  he  was  constantly  service 
able  and  never  intrusive.  In  fact,  she  grew  gradu 
ally  to  have  quite  a  sisterly  feeling  of  comfortable 
reliance  on  his  quiet  devotion  ;  it  was  only  that 
her  troublesome  Puritan  conscience  revolted  at  ac 
cepting  so  much  and  returning  so  little,  either  in 
the  way  of  present  regard  or  future  intention. 

The  other  matter  was  more  serious,  being  noth 
ing  less  than  the  prosaic  consideration  of  a  grow 
ing  tavern-bill.  Even  this  was  soon  relieved  by 
the  strong  aid  of  her  usual  ally,  Zury  Prouder. 

Zury  was  not  a  visitor  of  hers,  but  one  day  on 
coming  down  to  dinner  she  saw  him  at  the  desk  in 
deep  conversation  with  the  innkeeper,  the  subject 
being  evidently  a  very  anxious  one  for  the  latter. 
The  talk,  now  loud,  now  low,  finally  settled  down 
to  an  apparently  amicable  tenor,  and  at  this  point 
she  was  called  in. 

"  Miss    Sparrer,  one   moment   ef    yew   please. 


PANDORA'S  BOX.  267 

Brother  Thum  h'yer,  he 's  unlucky  enough  t' 
a-give  a  mortgidge  on  this  prop'ty,  'n'  I  'm  lucky 
enough  t'  hold  th'  said  mortgidge.  I  be'n  a-askin' 
him  fer  a  consid'able  back  int'rust  —  wal,  so  t' 
speak,  right  smart  o'  money  —  'n'  he  'llaows  he 
Can't  pay  it  not  jest  naow,  ner  can't  tell  when  he 
will  be  able  so  t'  dew." 

Thum  rubbed  his  anxious  brow  and  nodded  as 
sent. 

"  Wai,  t'  help  him  aout,  it  jest  struck  me  th't 
I'm  some  beholden  t'  yew,  'n'  yew  some  t'  him, 
'n'  goin'  t'  be  more  so,  we  hope :  fer  th'  longer  ye 
stay  raound,  th'  better  this  c'munity  '11  be  suited, 
be  it  weeks,  months,  er  years  "  — 

Again  Thum  nodded  —  this  time  with  a  smile. 

"  Wal  —  t' make  a  long  story  short  —  he  kin 
charge  your  accaount  t'  me,  'n'  yew  'n'  me  kin  fix 
it  up,  if  so  be  yew  'gree  t'  aour  plan." 

Anne,  in  her  "  puzzlementary  attitude,"  made 
a  rapid  mental  calculation  how  long  her  little 
store  of  cash  (when  made  good  from  county  as 
sets)  would  pay  the  modest  weekly  demands  of 
Mr.  Thum.  This  consideration  was  cut  short  by 
Zury. 

"  I  don't  llaow  th't  I  've  got  any  right  t'  pledge 
th'  caounty  money  fer  sich  a  purpose,  brother 
Thum.  That  must  be  a  trust,  t'  be  handed  over 
in  — tire." 

"  Wal  —  then  —  brother  Prouder  —  what  dooz 
that  leave  me  ?  Ef  th'  other  funds  dew  and  owin' 
by  yew  t'  Miss  Sparrer  give  aout "  — 

"  Wal,    brother    Thum,   that  's    my   lookaout. 


268  ZURY, 

Th'  caonnty  fun's  ain't  th'  only  thing  I  'm  a-ow- 
in'  t'  Miss  Sparrer,  by  right  smart.  When  I  tell 
yew  time  's  up  'n'  cash  gi'n  aout,  why  then  yew 
kin  aoust  Miss  Sparrer  by  any  legle  remedy  th' 
law  gives  ye.  But  till  I  notify  ye,  in  writin',  ye 
kin  go  on  a-entertainin'  her,  pervidin'  of  course 
ye  're  still  a  owin'  me,  er  my  credit 's  good  with 
ye  for  th'  overplus." 

"  Oh  wal,  that  '11  last  over  t'  kingdom  come,  I 
guess." 

"  Then  it  rests  with  you,  Miss  Sparrer !  " 

"  I  consent." 

As  Zury  hurried  off  to  mount  his  horse  he 
glanced  back,  but  he  did  not  meet  any  answering 
look  from  Anne  Sparrow. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

PASTORAL    CARE    FOB    AN    INTRACTABLE    EWE- 
LAMB. 

To  Anne,  at  the  tavern,  a  visitor  is  announced. 
"  Miss  Sparrow,  I  believe." 
"  Yes  sir.     Are  you  Mr.  Masten  ?  " 
"  The   same  unworthy  champion  of  a  worthy 
cause.     How  did  you  know  me,  may  I  inquire  ? 
You  have  not  attended  any  of  the  services  I  have 
held." 

"I  might  retort,  how  do  you  know  I  have 
not?" 

44  Well,  of  course  I  look  from  my  new  pulpit 
on  a  sea,  or  at  least  a  lake,  of  unknown  faces : 
still,  I  should  not  have  forgotten  yours." 

"  Oh  indeed  !  "  (A  little  pause,  a  little  blush, 
a  little  smile,  a  little  of  that  vain  movement  of 
the  head  called  "  bridling.")  "  Well,  I  too  could 
guess  you  were  Mr.  Masten  without  any  miracle. 
And  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  thank  you.  I  hear  you  have  been  sick." 
"  Yes.  Nothing  short  of  that  would  have  kept 
me  from  your  meetings ;  especially  since  I  learned 
how  much  I  ana  indebted  to  you  for  the  movement 
which  promises  to  relieve  me  from  my  worst 
trouble  —  almost  my  worst." 


270  ZURY. 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  owe  me  any  thanks.  I  was 
endeavoring  to  aid  justice,  which  is  the  Lord's 
cause,  not  yours." 

"  To  be  sure.     I  did  not  suppose  "  — 

"  Of  course  I  should  have  been  glad  to  serve 
you  personally ;  am  glad  now  to  find  who  it  is 
that  I  have  been  made  the  humble  instrument  in 
setting  right." 

"  Oh,  I  know  well  enough  it  would  have  made 
no  difference  with  you." 

"  God  is  no  respecter  of  persons :  how  could  His 
professed  servant  be  influenced  by  preference, 
even  when  it  was  so  natural  as  it  is  in  this  case  ?  " 
And  he  looked  at  her  with  a  directness  that  startled 
her  a  little,  awakening  a  forgotten  feeling ;  a  mix 
ture  of  gratification  and  reserve  that  kept  her  silent. 

"  I  have  of  course  heard  much  about  you." 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  so." 

Tears  started  from  her  heart,  but  before  they 
reached  her  eyes  he  went  on. 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  fear  !  Quite  the  contrary. 
As  the  conversation  has  reached  me,  it  was  such  as 
made  me  think  of  you  with  thanks  to  God  that  He 
should  have  bestowed  such  a  gift  on  this  people." 

At  this  the  tears  made  their  way,  but  with 
much  of  the  bitterness  filtered  out  on  the  road. 

"And,  since  I  have  met  you,  I  must  try  to  be 
glad  that  I  spoke  on  your  side  before  making 
your  acquaintance ;  so  that  I  need  not  suspect 
myself  of  being  moved  to  zeal  by  other  than 
godly  impulses,  —  by  things  of  the  earth,  earthy." 

Now  she  m ust  rally  him  out  of  this  sentimental 


AN  INTRACTABLE  EWE-LAMB.  271 

vein.  So  she  dried  her  eyes,  and  dragged  up  a 
light  smile  from  its  long-used  hiding-place. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  alarmed  as  to  that !  A  little 
better  acquaintance  will  quite  free  your  con 
science  from  any  suspicion  of  favoritism  in  my 
direction.  You  've  probably  been  talking  to  the 
Ansteys." 

"  Yes  —  and  the  Prouders,  and  others." 

"  Well,  that  may  have  misled  you  ;  but  now 
that  you  come  to  headquarters,  all  the  false  glory 
will  soon  depart." 

Not  quite  ready  to  keep  up  with  her  woman- 
wit  he  reddened  in  silence,  and  she  changed  the 
subject  to  things  less  personal. 

"  I  hope  you  have  learned  to  value  the  Ansteys 
as  I  do." 

"  They  seem  to  be  —  the  Lord's  people  :  treas 
ures  hidden  in  measures  of  meal,  not  at  once  to 
be  known  for  the  value  they  possess.  We  must 
be  cautious,  I  have  learned,  to  avoid  judging  by 
exteriors.  Do  you  not  find  it  so?  " 

"  Well,  I  had  seen  so  many  false  jewels  in  fine 
settings  in  my  life,  before  I  met  the  Ansteys,  that 
I  was  quite  prepared  to  find  specimens  of  the  re 
verse.  I  have  almost  forgotten  that  they  are  not 
the  pink  of  elegance.  Don't  you  think  Eureka 
very  handsome  ?  " 

"  Since  you  mention  it,  I  do  recall  that  she  is 
well-favored  for  a  —  for  a  native.  She  may  grow 
into  a  good-looking  lady." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  sure  you  have  not  observed  her 
eyes  !  They  would  be  remarked  anywhere  ! 
Don't  fail  to  look  at  them." 


272  ZURY. 

"  I  will  make  a  memoranda,  and  surely  do  as 
you  sudgest." 

"  And  as  to  cultivation  —  little  things,  of  no 
great  importance  but  yet  sure  of  a  certain  appre 
ciation  in  your  eyes  on  account  of  your  own  su 
perior  education,"  —  she  looked  for  a  self-satisfied 
smirk,  and  did  not  look  in  vain,  —  "  I  wish  you 
would  observe  how  much  she  has  learned,  even  in 
the  few  months  I  have  been  aiding  her  in  my  poor 
way." 

" 1  must  allow,  sister,  that  I  had  already  found 
my  attention  called  to  a  general  improvement 
manifest  in  the  lambs  a  kind  Shepherd  has  given 
into  your  holy  keeping,  especially  in  their  verbiage, 
which  almost  approaches  your  own." 

Anne  winced  at  "  verbiage,"  but  kept  her  face 
straight,  and  went  on. 

"  So  much  result,  from  so  small  a  cause,  shows 
a  capacity  for  cultivation  which  will  lead  her  to 
perfect  ladylikeness  —  under  proper  guidance. 
Of  course  Mrs.  Anstey  has  prescribed  for  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  truly  !  I  am  armed  against  all  known 
diseases,  and  have  only  to  await  the  assaults." 

"  But  I  hope  that  though  nine  old  women  can 
prescribe  for  a  clergyman,  one  cannot  make  him 
take  the  dose." 

"  Well !  To  be  frank  with  yon,  the  only  fear 
I  now  cherish  of  any  ailment  is  the  uncertainty 
how  to  parry  Mrs.  Anstey 's  good  offices." 

"  Oh,  do  as  I  do.  A  laugh  and  a  shake  of  the 
head  is  a  good  shield  —  if  one  could  only  always 
have  the  laugh  at  command !  " 


AN  INTRACTABLE  EWE-LAMB.  273 

"  Perhaps  the  good  lady  would  not  forgive  me 
for  my  rebellious  views  as  readily  as  she  has  for 
given  you  for  yours." 

"  More  readily  !  I  have  prepared  the  path  for 
you  !  " 

"  Most  true.  You  have  been  a  pioneer  of  com 
mon  sense  regarding  medical  experiments  —  the 
voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness,  if  I  may 
quote  holy  writ  without  irreverence.  Brother 
Prouder  says  you  regard  doctors,  even  graduated 
practitioners,  as  toll-gate  keepers  to  the  grave 
yard." 

"  Aha !  That  is  his  flowery  garb  for  my  sim 
ple  expressions.  He  is  a  good  deal  of  a  poet." 

This  was  a  staggerer  for  the  simple-hearted 
theological  collegiate.  The  stony  hardness  of  a 
pioneer  endowed  with  the  graces  of  a  poet !  The 
discussion  that  followed  as  to  what  poetry  is ;  the 
novel  thought  that  rhyme  and  metre  are  mere 
adjuncts  and  accessories;  these  suggestions  were 
to  him  like  the  opening  of  a  window  toward  sun 
rise.  He  listened  spellbound ;  and,  in  his  lum 
bering  way,  laid  himself  out  to  do  his  part  and 
appear  well  before  the  fair  Bostonian. 

His  success  was  not  all  that  might  have  been 
desired.  In  the  first  place,  besides  his  errors  in 
the  misuse  and  overuse  of  language,  the  Boston 
a  was  beyond  his  grasp.  His  a  in  "can't"  was 
just  the  same  as  his  a  in  "  can."  Now  McVey 
could  say,  in  the  same  breath, "  can  "  and  "  cahn't," 
without  a  moment's  preparation,  or  any  caution 
to  avoid  the  confusion  of  tongues  which  haunts 


274  ZURY. 

some  aspirants  to  this  envied  accomplishment. 
As  when  they  fall  into  the  mongrel  "  haf- 
pahst." 

Then,  too,  his  habit  of  thought  and  his  notion 
of  reverent  duty  impelled  the  dragging  in  of  fre 
quent  casual  allusions  to  Deity,  which  were,  to 
Anne,  whimsical  absurdities  —  a  mixture  of  cant 
and  blasphemy. 

But  most  of  all  she  was  held  aloof  from  sym 
pathy  with  his  effort  to  cultivate  their  acquaint 
ance  into  intimacy,  by  the  fact  that  her  troubles 
and  her  illness  seemed  to  have  made  her  abso 
lutely  indifferent  to  the  whole  race  of  men.  Her 
thin  features  had  taken  on  that  touching  hunted 
look  one  sometimes  sees  in  delicate  animals.  All 
she  cared  for  was  to  know  how  to  keep  the  other 
sex  at  a  distance  and  how  to  get  along  without 
them.  It  was  still  a  problem  —  a  horrid  puzzle, 
especially  in  the  dark  night  when  she  ought  to 
have  been  asleep  instead  of  sobbing  and  shudder 
ing  on  her  lonely  pillow.  Oh  if  she  could  only 
fly  to  a  heaven  peopled  entirely  with  female  an 
gels ! 

As  to  this  new  friend,  whom  a  few  weeks  be 
fore  she  might  have  hailed  with  enthusiasm  and 
counted  among  the  most  promising  brightenings 
in  her  dull  lot,  she  now  only  wished  to  be  well  rid 
of  him.  But  this  thought  did  not  seriously  dis 
quiet  her,  for  she  said  to  herself,  — 

"  He  is  so  religious  —  I  can  cure  him  in  short 
order  of  any  troublesome  penchant  he  may  enter 
tain  for  me.  All  I  shall  have  to  do  is  to  let  him 


AN  INTRACTABLE  EWE-LAMB.  275 

know  what  a  heathen  I  am !  So  that  is  off  my 
mind." 

Therefore  she  gave  her  fancy  full  play,  and 
really  enjoyed  his  call  as  the  first  intellectual  priv 
ilege  worthy  the  name  which  she  had  met  with 
since  she  had  left  "  home." 

But  Hasten  was  not  so  safe.  This  delightful 
conversation  was  not  to  him  a  recalling  of  any 
old  and  long-forgotten  pleasure.  It  was  a  new  ex 
perience,  the  realization  of  dreams  of  what  social 
intercourse  might  be,  which  dreams  had  hitherto 
never  assumed  more  than  a  dim  semblance  of  ac 
tuality  in  his  acquaintance  with  a  humble  home, 
and  the  women  and  girls  of  a  Western  academy 
town  ;  and  the  unlovely  specimens  he  had  met  in 
his  new  field  of  labor,  —  simply,  in  his  eyes,  a 
drove  of  lambs  to  be  coaxed  and  driven  into  the 
fold  of  the  Good  Shepherd ;  not  lovely  and 
charming  human  souls,  like  his  new  friend. 

Toward  the  latter  part  of  his  call  Anne  noticed 
a  growing  seriousness  in  his  mood  and  a  more  con 
stant  gravitation  toward  holy  writ.  He  evidently 
had  something  on  his  mind.  At  last  it  came  out. 

"  Sister  Sparrow,  will  you  accompany  me  to  the 
Throne  of  Grace  ?  " 

She  thought  to  herself,  "  Now  is  my  time  to  put 
up  the  bars,"  and  after  a  moment's  pause  answered, 
rather  stiffly,  — 

"  You  must  pray  when  and  where  you  please, 
Mr.  Masten,  and  permit  me  to  do  the  same." 

"  Are  not  all  times  and  places  fitted  for  pray 


ing? 


276  ZURY. 

"  Well,  no ;  not  praying  out  aloud." 

"  Prayer  is  the  food  of  the  soul." 

'*  My  soul  never  eats  between  meals." 

"  Prayer  is  the  Christian's  breath  of  life." 

44  Well,  perhaps  so ;  but  the  healthiest  breath 
ing  is  inaudible." 

Finding  that  his  allegorical  shafts  recoiled  upon 
him,  he  cast  about  for  some  more  direct  appeal ; 
but  she  headed  him  off. 

44 1  suppose  a  woman  can  speak  confidentially  to 
a  minister  —  the  priest  never  betrays  the  secrets 
of  the  confessional  "  — 

"  You  mean  to  ask  if  I. will  keep  what  you  say 
to  myself  ?  Most  unquestionably  !  " 

44  Well,  then,  between  ourselves,  I  'm  a  heretic ! ' 

44  A  —  heretic  ?  "  He  gazed  at  her  with  amused 
incredulity  as  if  she  had  said,  "  I  'm  a  burglar." 

44  Yes  —  a  despicable  heretic!  You  know  Bos 
ton  is  deeply  tainted  with  false  doctrine,  heresy, 
and  schism." 

"  I  had  surely  heard  that  New  England  had,  to 
some  extent,  harbored  unchristian  views,  rejecting 
the  plain  teachings  of  the  Bible  and  setting  up  the 
folly  of  man  against  the  wisdom  of  God.  But ! 
Do  we  gather  grapes  of  thorns  or  figs  of  thistles  ? 
Can  such  influences  as  I  have  observed  among 
your  scholars  come  from  a  Uni  — "  he  checked 
himself  as  if  it  were  a  word  not  to  be  ventured  in 
a  lady's  presence. 

44  A  Unitarian  ?  Oh,  no,  I  don't  call  myself  a 
Unitarian  —  I  'm  afraid  dear  good  Doctor  Chan- 
ning  would  n't  own  me !  But  at  any  rate  I  do 


AN  INTRACTABLE  EWE-LAMB.  277 

not,  can  not,  and  will  not  join,  except  pas 
sively,  in  the  customary  forms  of  orthodox  wor 
ship." 

"  Well,  I  'in  glad  you  're  not  a  Unitarian  at 
least !  But  oh,  my  dear  young  Christian  friend, 
how  I  must  wrestle  in  prayer,  for  you  if  not  with 
you !  Yours  I  perceive  to  be  a  logical  mind ;  I 
must  prepare  for  your  use  some  of  the  considera 
tions  which  cannot  fail  to  bring  any  reasoning 
being  to  the  true  faith !  Promise  me  to  attend 
divine  service  on  Sabbath  !  " 

"I'm  afraid  you  '11  preach  at  me,  and  the  peo 
ple  will  find  it  out  somehow  !  " 

"  I  will  preach  at  Satan  and  all  his  works  ;  I 
hope  you  're  not  Satan,  in  one  of  his  most  danger 
ous  disguises  ;  and  I  'm  sure  you  are  not,  for  your 
works  are  those  of  an  angel  of  light." 

"Well,  now  remember — those  works  of  mine 
you  make  so  much  of  will  all  be  rubbed  out  like 
a  picture  off  a  slate,  if  you  in  any  way,  by  words, 
looks,  or  actions,  in  the  pulpit  or  out  of  it,  let  the 
Wayback  world  know  as  much  about  me  as  I  have 
told  you  about  myself.  Or  any  inkling  of  it !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  my  —  Miss  Sparrow  !  We  learn 
some  cunning,  even  in  a  theological  school,  — 
some  worldly  wisdom,  not  going  to  the  extent  of 
4  pious  fraud,'  —  though  you  did  call  me  a  priest  a 
while  ago  ! " 

"  Did  I  ?  Well,  I  take  it  back.  Be  as  wise  as 
a  serpent,  as  well  as  harmless  as  a  dove,  won't 
you?" 

"  Surely,  surely,  Miss  Sparrow  !    Anything  you 


278  ZURY. 

give  me  Bible  warrant  for,  you  may  command  me 
to  do.  New  Testament  warrant,  I  would  say." 

They  parted  with  expressions  of  good-will,  pious 
on  his  side  and  hearty  on  both,  although  Anne 
had  grown  a  little  tired  of  him. 

The  enthusiastic  young  shepherd,  as  he  walked 
rapidly  away,  kept  saying  to  himself,  "  Oh,  what 
a  brand  to  snatch  from  the  burning  ! "  over  and 
over  again  ;  and  when  he  had  got  clear  of  the 
town  and  into  the  silent  woods,  he  dropped  on  his 
knees  and  put  up  an  earnest  prayer  for  aid  in  this 
sweet  heaven-appointed  task  that  had  just  opened 
before  him. 

When  he  rose,  brushed  off  his  trousers,  and 
walked  on,  he  grew  voluble  and  eloquent  in  scath 
ing  denunciations  of  the  errors  of  heterodoxy.  He 
cut  and  trimmed  asstout  hickory  sapling  to  enable 
him  to  gesticulate  without  appearing  to  himself 
absurd.  With  it  he  swished  off  the  heads  of  many 
mullein-stalks,  each  personifying  some  monstrous 
fallacy  of  heresy.  "  Salvation  by  works !  "(swisht !) 
u  Unity  of  the  Godhead  !  "  (swisht !)  "  Denial  of 
verbal  inspiration  !  "  (swisht !)  "  Subordination 
of  the  Son  !  "  (swisht !)  "  Universal  salvation  !  " 
(swisht!) 

Here  his  stick  encountered  a  hidden  obstacle, 
and  broke  at  the  point ;  but  he  cut  off  the  splin 
tered  end  and  went  forward  with  shorter  strokes, 
not  noticing  the  omen. 

His  next  Sunday's  sermon  was  half  prepared 
before  he  had  traveled  the  first  two  miles ;  and 
when  polemics  became  wearisome  his  thoughts 


AN  INTRACTABLE  EWE-LAMB.  279 

strayed  to  pleasanter  themes ;  and  pictures  arose 
of  a  fair  and  shining  penitent,  brought  (by  Divine 
help)  to  glorious  usefulness  in  a  life  rounding  out 
and  completing  his  own. 

Before  he  dismissed  this  alluring  vision,  it  had 
flown  on  so  fast  and  so  far  as  to  portray  Anne  the 
observed  of  all  observers  at  Conference,  and  in 
suring  (even  to  a  husband  who  was  sure  of  it 
already)  the  most  rapid  advance  to  the  very  top 
of  his  profession. 

On  Sunday  morning  he  gave  out  as  his  text  for 
the  morning  sermon,  "  My  Father  is  greater  than 
I,"  and  for  the  afternoon,  u  I  and  my  Father  are 
one."  He  demonstrated  with  irrefutable  reason 
ing  that  the  first  had  been  said  by  the  Earthly 
Nature  speaking  of  the  Heavenly  Nature :  and 
then  he  supplemented  the  argumentative  by  the 
denunciatory  ;  shaking  the  most  gory  terrors  over 
the  heads  of  such  unnamed  and  almost  unnamable 
miscreants  and  blasphemers  as  might,  in  certain 
far-away  localities,  dare  to  question  the  existence 
of  a  Triune  God.  Shouts  of  "  Glory  !  "  "  A-a-a- 
men  !  "  "  Bless  His  name !  "  and  other  wild  cries 
and  groans  arose  on  all  sides,  so  as  to  drown  the 
speaker's  voice  at  the  close  of  certain  sentences 
full  of  blood-curdling  sentiments  regarding  the 
ultimate  fate  of  these  distant  monsters  of  Iniquity. 
Every  heart  in  the  crowded  house  was  carried 
along  in  the  torrent  of  the  preacher's  eloquence  — 
every  heart  but  <*ne,  a  large  one  under  a  small 
bodice,  which  only  murmured  "  goose  "  in  response 
to  him,  and  u geese"  in  protest  against  them. 


280  ZURY. 

After  "  meeting "  was  over  Hasten  escaped 
from  the  throng  about  him  to  ask  Anne  if  he 
might  walk  home  with  her,  but  she  said  as  she 
was  still  delicate  she  was  going  to  accept  a  seat 
in  one  of  the  wagons.  He  probably  did  not  im 
agine  that  she  could  see  how  his  countenance  fell 
at  this,  but  she  could  and  did.  He  strode  out 
stoutly,  however,  and  when  the  wagon  she  rode  in 
approached  and  passed  him  she  could  not  help  ob 
serving  how  tall,  and  even  handsome  (in  his  way) 
he  looked,  strong  in  body  and  mind,  and  (as  she 
added  to  herself)  utterly  unlovable.  He  looked 
up  for  her  bow,  but  her  face  was  turned  far  away 
on  the  other  side,  so  he  could  only  smile  on  her 
companions. 

She  did  not  come  out  again  for  the  afternoon 
meeting,  and  the  hearers  marked  a  great  falling 
off  in  the  preacher,  scarcely  a  groan  or  shout 
broke  the  oppressive  coldness. 

Masten  could  not  let  the  week  go  by  without  a 
visit  at  the  tavern.  If  Anne  had  been  in  her  own 
room  she  would  have  excused  herself,  but  it  hap 
pened  that  on  that  evening  she  was  in  the 
"  settin'-room  "  with  the  innkeeper's  family,  so  she 
welcomed  him  with  the  rest.  The  woman  of  the 
house  wanted  to  withdraw,  discreetly,  to  leave  th^ 
young  folks  together,  but  Anne  managed  to  drag 
her  into  the  conversation  and  hold  her  there,  vi  et 
armis :  and  when  finally  she  insisted  on  tearing 
herself  away,  behold,  the  unrtdy  young  woman 
must  needs  retire  also,  to  the  preacher's  manifest 
discomfiture. 


AN  INTRACTABLE  EWE-LAMB.  281 

Two  visits  by  one  marriageable  man  to  one  mar 
riageable  woman,  plus  one  neighbor  looking  out 
of  window,  amounts  to  a  reported  engagement  in 
any  frontier  town.  So  "  preacher  he  's  a  sparkin' 
scule-rnom,"  was  the  news  in  Wayback  instanter. 
It  did  not  affect  anybody  particularly,  except  poor 
gentlemanly  Johnny  McVey,  who  presented  to 
the  world,  about  these  days,  an  effigy  of  despair. 
As  Tom  Lackner,  the  storekeeper,  said,  "  Johnny 
looks  like  a  stuck  pig.  He  hain't  cracked  a  smile 
for  a  week." 

Even  Anne  noticed  John's  melancholy,  and  said 
to  herself,  "  John  is  a  faithful  soul.  That  tire 
some  Masten,  who  knows  everything  and  so  much 
more,  —  he  would  never  grow  pale  and  thin  for 
me  or  any  other  woman." 

If  Masten  did  not  pine,  he  at  least  showed 
other  signs  of  interest,  the  most  marked  was  an 
appeal  for  advice  to  Prouder.  Zury  listened  to 
him  in  grave  silence,  and  after  a  minute's  pause 
said  simply,  — 

"  Give  it  up." 

44  Give  it  up  ?  Why  give  it  up  brother  Proud 
er  ?  She  is  the  very  person  to  aid  me  in  doing 
the  Lord's  work,  here  or  elsewhere." 

"  Mebbe  so.     But  give  it  up  all  the  same." 

"Would  not  such  a  union  meet  the  views  of 
my  flock?" 

"  Like  enough." 

"  Then  who  is  tfiere  to  object?  " 

"  Wai,  thar  's  Miss  Sparrer  fer  one." 

44  Oh  !  "  rather  faintly,  and  much  dismayed. 
"  Perhaps  she  can  do  better  ?  " 


282  ZURY. 

"  Perhaps  —  or  wuss." 

"Do  you  think  that,  at  the  East,  before  she 
came  here  "  — 

"  Mebbe  so.  She  hain't  never  seemed  to  con 
geal  with  none  o'  the  fellows  West."  To  be  con 
genial  he  meant. 

"  Well,  brother  Prouder,  I  shall  consider  your 
advice  carefully  —  prayerfully.  I  shall  take  it  to 
my  closet.  And  I  shall  not  decide  hastily." 

But  at  the  same  moment  he  had  quite  decided 
to  try  his  luck  with  the  school-ina'am  herself  be 
fore  he  was  a  day  older,  if  possible.  Not  caring 
to  assail  the  tavern  again,  he  engaged  the  willing 
services  of  Sister  Anstey,  found  just  when  Anne 
•was  to  be  at  her  house,  and  called  there  at  that 
time. 

Anne  knew  he  "  meant  business  "  the  moment 
she  saw  him,  that  they  all  "meant  business"  in 
fact,  that  she  was  to  be  made  Mrs.  Masten,  peace 
ably  if  they  could,  forcibly  if  they  must.  The 
sweet  Eureka  had  evidently  fallen  in  love  with 
the  preacher  as  a  husband  for  her  darling  precep 
tress.  Anne  had  scarcely  patience  to  put  up  with 
such  perversity.  What  in  the  world  she  should 
do,  she  did  not  yet  know  ;  why  would  they  persist 
in  intruding  suggestions  of  things  she  could  not 
do?  Vexation  possessed  her  spirit,  and  her 
flushed  face  and  bent  brows  as  she  promptly  ac 
cepted  Masten's  escort  for  the  walk  to  the  village, 
ought  to  have  sealed  his  lips  regarding  the  thing 
he  had  to  say.  But  they  did  not.  As  she  said  to 
herself  :  "  Such  men  have  just  as  much  tact  as  a 
canal-mule." 


AN  INTRACTABLE  EWE-LAMB.  283 

44  Miss  Sparrow,  I  am  a  plain  man,  engaged  in  a 
great  work."  ("  Of  course  you  must  begin  talk 
ing  about  yourself  !  ")  "  My  education  has  been 
the  best  which  my  surroundings  could  afford." 
("  Pity  you  had  n't  learned  common  sense  regard 
ing  women.")  "  My  bodily  health  is  perfect,  I 
am  informed  by  physicians  that  my  life  will  pro 
bably  be  a  long  one."  ("  What  a  blessing !  ") 
44  That  is,  if  such  be  the  Lord's  will."  ("  Oh,  if 
it  isn't,  you'll  die  sooner,  I  suppose.")  "The 
life  of  a  minister's  wife  no  doubt  has  its  trials 
and  tribulations."  ("  How  different  from  other 
women's  lives  !  ")  4t  But  they  are  sent  by  God." 
("  You  should  n't  swear  !  ")  "  And  he  does  not 
leave  the  faithful  without  some  compensations." 
("Donation  parties,  probably.")  "I  presume 
you  see  the  drift  of  my  remarks  ?  " 

44 1  might  guess  that  you  intended  to  ask  my  ad 
vice  about  marriage.  If  I  am  right  my  counsel  is 
ready  ;  Eureka  Anstey  is  a  splendid  girl,  my  fa 
vorite  pupil,  an  angel  in  mind  and  body,  heart  and 
soul,  and  unquestioningly  .orthodox  by  birth, 
training,  habit  of  thought,  and  conviction.  I  rec 
ommend  you  by  all  means  to  lay  siege  to  her 
heart :  slowly  and  carefully,  so  as  not  to  offend  her 
by  showing  expectations  she  may  have  given  you 
no  reason  to  entertain." 

44  Ahem  —  you  catch  the  general  drift  of  my 
thought,  but  not  its  particular  direction.  Per 
haps  my  verbiage  was  not  clear."  (44  Verbiage 
again  !  That  settles  it!  ")  "What  I  meant  to 
convey  was,  an  invitation  to  you,  sister  Sparrow, 
to  become  a  minister's  wife  —  to  be  mine." 


284  ZURY. 

"  Now  Mr.  Hasten  !  —  What  can  I  say  to  you  ? 
I  thought  I  had  given  you  enough  warning  to 
spare  me  the  necessity  of  this.  I  told  you,  at  the 
outset,  that  I  was  not  in  sympathy  with  the  most 
important  part  of  your  life.  Is  your  piety  such  a 
shallow  principle  that  you  can  forget  it  at  a  word, 
—  ignore  confessed  heresy  that  must  seem  almost 
blasphemy  in  your  view  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  only  error  !  " 

"  Error  indeed !  Your  Calvin  burned  poor  Ser- 
vetus  for  such  error !  And  you  ;  the  first  sight  of 
a  face  —  a  poor,  pale,  sad,  freckly  countenance  — 
makes  you  ready  to  drop  all  question  of  faith  and 
principle ! " 

"  Oh,  sister  Sparrow !  Who  was  it  who  was 
sent  to  call,  not  the  righteous,  but  sinners  to  re 
pentance  ?  There  is  more  joy  in  heaven  "  — 

"  There,  there ;  never  mind  that.  You  are  not 
sent  to  call  sinners  to  repentance  by  marrying 
them  —  at  least  not  this  sinner!  You  orthodox 
saints  seem  to  think  that  we  heterodox  sinners 
are  only  waiting  for  you  to  come  along  and  tell 
us  the  news  —  to  unfold  your  scheme  of  redemp 
tion  that  we  may  subscribe  to  it.  You  are  mis 
taken  —  we  decline  your  views  because  we  know 
all  about  them  and  think  they  are  foolish  !  " 

"  But,  sister,  if  we  are  wrong  we  are  still  safe ; 
while  if  you  are  wrong,  where  are  you  in  the  last 
great  day?" 

"  Oh,  don't  try  to  bribe  me  into  any  belief  by 
showing  its  advantages  !  "  (He  almost  adored  the 
way  she  said  "  advahntages.")  "  I  suppose  your 


AN  INTRACTABLE  EWE-LAMB.  285 

entire  interest  in  me  arises  from  your  fear  that  I 
am  doomed  to  eternal  torments." 

She  glanced  up  to  see  why  he  was  silent ;  then 
down,  startled  by  his  humble  look  and  words. 

"No,  Miss  Sparrow;  I  feel  that  you  will  not 
perish.  Whether  by  a  change  of  heart  under 
God's  grace,  or  by  some  other  gift  of  His  infinite 
benevolence,  outside  my  narrow  vision,  I  cannot 
say ;  but  you  will  be  saved.  I  shall  meet  you  in 
heaven  if  I  am  to  attain  thither  —  by  some  merit 
not  my  own.  God  grant  it  and  amen  !  I  would 
cast  my  lot  with  yours  in  this  world  and  the 
next.  But  —  I  fear  it  is  not  to  be  !  " 

Tears  filled  his  eyes,  and  his  face  looked  pa 
thetically  altered  with  its  loss  of  complacency  and 
self-confidence.  His  unlovable  good  looks  were 
gone. 

Anne  said :  "  Oh  I  'm  so  sorry  —  sorry  I  was 
rude !  "  But  a  moment  later  she  thought,  "  You 
horrid  man  I  You  are  going  to  make  me  cry, 
when  I  would  much  rather  be  angry !  Why 
could  n't  you  all  let  me  alone  ?  "  And  then  she 
did  cry. 

"  Do  your  tears  —  give  me  any  reason  to  think 
—  to  hope  —  that  you  may  bring  your  mind  to  a 
favorable  answer  to  my  proposal  ?  " 

So  he  was  a  good  fellow  at  heart.  Might  be 
humble  and  loving,  even  under  that  sanctimonious 
smile!  Of  what  consequence  were  "verbiage" 
and  "a  memoranda  "  after  all? 

"  No,  Mr.  Masten.  Now  may  I  say  something 
which  I  know  will  spare  me  any  further  ques- 


286  ZURY. 

tions  and  insure  me  your  forgiveness  and  your 
friendship  ?  " 

"  Alas,  yes,  Miss  Sparrow !  I  could  refuse  you 
nothing  just  now." 

"  Well,  then  —  I  am  not  free  to  listen  to  you" 

A  boy  awakened  much  interest  at  home  that 
night  by  a  remarkable  tale. 

"I  guess  schule-mom  she  'xperienced  religion 
t'day  daown  in  th'  woods.  I  seed  her  'n'  preacher 
a-blubberin'  like  sixty,  a-walkin'  along  th'  road. 
I  wuz  a-plowin'  corn  'longside  the  fence,  'n'  I 
heerd  preacher  a-blowin'  his  nose  like  sixty,  and  I 
peeked  threw  th'  fence,  'n'  thar  the'  wuz,  a-walkin' 
along,  not  a-sayin'  a  word,  and  both  a-blubberin' 
like  sixty !  " 

"  Does  look  like  she  'd  be'n  convicted  o'  sin,  'n' 
'xperienced  a  hope,  don't  it !  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

KICKING  AGAINST  THE  PRICKS. 

"  0-H-H-H,  sister  Anstey !  " 

"Why,  sister  Praouder!  Thet  ain't  never 
yew,  is  it !  'N'  Zury  tew,  I  dew  declare  !  Wun't 
ye  light  'n'  strip  ?  " 

"  Thankee  no.    We  wuz  jest  a-joggin'  t'  taown." 

44  Haow  's  things  aout  on  th'  parayra  ?  " 

44  Oh,  same  old  rut.  Ye  heerd  haow  th'  black 
smith's  wife  she 's  pootty  low  ?  " 

44  Ya-as.  I  heerd.  Haow  dooz  it  look  with 
her  ?  " 

44  Oh,  bad  enough.  Physic  don't  seem  t'  take 
no  holt  on  her.  Blacksmith  'llaows  't  ef  she  lives 
till  th'  change  o'  th'  moon  she  may  git  well,  but 
ef  not,  why  he  hain't  much  hope  o'  her  ever  bein' 
any  better." 

44Hev  the'  tried  slipp'ry  ellum  peeled  in  th' 
dark  o'  th'  moon  ?  " 

44  Slipp'ry  ellum  !  Why  the'  've  had  the  new 
doctor,  V  real  store  drugs  !  They  9d  a  pulled  her 
threw  ef  anythin'  could." 

(We  will  spare  the  reader  the  lists  of  expedi 
ents  4t  they  might  have  tried.") 

44  Wai,  sister  Anstey ;  them  things  might  likely 
a  helped  her  some  ef  it  had  a  be'n  th'  Lord's  will; 


288  ZURY. 

very  likely  I  sh'd  say.  But  that 's  nuther  h'yer 
ner  thar.  We  're  jest  worms  o'  th'  dust,  h'yer  to 
day  V  come  agin  t'-morrer.  We  're  all  in  th' 
han's  o'  Him  that 's  like  a  squirrel  in  th'  wall ; 
He  a-seein'  us  all  th'  time  an'  we  a-knowin'  noth'n' 
abaout  it.  But  hev  ye  heerd  what  the'  say  naow 
abaout  sister  Sparrer  ?  " 

"  S-h-h-h  !  She  's  in  the  gardin'  with  Reekie. 
What  dew  th'  say  naow  ?  " 

"Why  the'  say  she  gin  preacher  th'  mit- 
tin." 

"Wai  —  I  'llaowed  as  much,  jest  from  him 
a-comin'  h'yer  t'  walk  t'  Wayback  with  her,  'n' 
never  a-showin'  up  sence." 

"  Ye  hain't  as't  her  nothin'  ?  " 

"No.  Nobody  th't  knows  her  's  well  's  I  dew 
don'  dew  much  questionin'  on  her.  Glad  enough 
t'  hear  her  talk  on  her  own  hook  'thaout  a-puttin' 
in  my  oar  much.  Wai,  she 's  tew  good  fer  him, 
—  er  any  other  man,  fer  that  matter." 

"  Would  ye  mind  a-hollerin'  tew  her  ?  I  'd  like 
t'  kinder  pass  the  time  o'  day  with  her." 

"  Sure-lye  !  O-H-H-H,  Reekie  !  Yew  Reekie 
Anstey  !  Come  h'yer  !  " 

There  was  no  answer.  Anne,  who  had  spied 
the  Prouders  afar  off,  had  artfully  drawn  Reekie 
back  into  the  dim  recesses  of  the  "  woods-lot "  to 
avoid  a  meeting.  But  the  energetic  Mrs.  Anstey 
"  re w ted  'em  aout,"  as  she  expressed  it,  and  they 
came  forward  and  greeted  the  travelers. 

"  Miss  Sparrer,  we  're  a-goin'  toward  th'  tav 
ern,  'n'  I  thought  ye  might  like  a  lift  that  fur." 


KICKING  AGAINST  THE  PRICKS.         289 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Prouder,  but  I  did  not  think 
of  going  for  a  while  yet." 

"  Wai,  anyways  sune  ?  I  dunno  's  we  're  in 
any  gre't  of  a  hurry." 

"Oh,  not  for  a  long  time.  I  shall  be  going 
over  about  the  time  you  are  going  back  home." 

"Wai  — t'  tell  th'  fact,  — I  did  hev  a  leetle 
matter  I  wanted  t'  speak  with  ye  abaout." 

uOh,  very  well,  —  then  I'll  go,  of  course. 
Good-by,  Reekie,  we  '11  settle  that  to-morrow." 

"Settle  what?"  said  simple-hearted  Reekie. 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  ?  That  matter  I  was 
going  to  talk  over  with  you  if  I  had  stayed  lon 
ger."  A  mysterious  nod  and  frown  failed  to  in 
timate  to  the  unsophisticated  younger  woman  that 
Anne  wished  to  fabricate  a  plausible  explanation 
of  her  first  refusal  of  the  Prouder's  invitation. 

"Naow,  Miss  Sparrer,  Zury  he  'llaows  ye 
would  n't  jest  nat'rally  come  up  V  squat  daown 
with  us  ;  but  I  tell  him  ye  can't  most  oilers  tell 
what  ye  kin  least  expeck  abaout  a  young  gal,  not 
till  ye  ask  her,  'n'  not  oilers  then." 

Anne  shook  her  head  in  firm,  silent  negative. 
Mrs.  Prouder  was  about  to  enlarge  on  the  abun 
dance  of  room  and  food  on  the  farm,  when  her 
husband  interrupted  her. 

"  See  h'yer,  Flor.  D'  ye  wanter  bring  me  up  t' 
th'  poorhaouse  ?  " 

"\Val —  not  right  off,  Zury  !  Th'  spare  cham 
ber 's  idle  'n'  useless,  'n'  as  fer  feed,  the's  more 
give  t'  th'  dawg  every  day  th'n  th'  little  she  'd 
eat.  'N'  ol'  Shep  he  'd  orter  be  killed  anyhaow !  " 


290  ZURY. 

"  Oh  sho  !  Spare  chamber  h'yer  'n'  dawg  thar ! 
It  's  money  I  'm  a  -  lookin'  at !  Thar 's  Thum 
a-owin'  me  —  a-owin'  me  —  wal,  no  odds  haow 
much ;  an'  th'  debt  a-growin'  bigger  every  day 
more  ner  Miss  Sparrer's  keep  '11  come  tew  ;  'n'  no 
arthly  chance  o'  me  ever  a-gittin'  it  aouter  him  in 
cash.  An  him  'n'  me  's  fixed  it  up  t'  charge  up 
folkses  bills  th't  I  send  thar  'n'  let  'em  run  on  th' 
accaount ;  'n'  naow  h'yer  comes  yew,  persuadin' 
away  th'  customers  thet  's  a  eatin'  aout  th'  debt ! 
It  raily  ain't  right,  Flory,  —  agin  yer  own  hus 
band,  tew ! " 

"Naow  Zury  !  Ye  know  I  didn't  go  fer  t' 
dew  noth'n'  agin  ye  !  But  could  n't  we  have  her 
t'  aour  'us,  'n'  charge  it  up  agin  my  farm  some- 
haow?" 

"  No,  we  jest  could  n't !  Chargin'  yew,  by  me, 
's  jest  takin'  money  aouter  one  pocket  'n'  puttin' 
it  in  another  ;  whereas  naow  it  don't  cost  me  a 
blame  cent !  " 

"  Jest  like  Zury !  Grippin'  'n'  gripin'  t'  th'  last, 
same  's  ever !  "  Such  was  Mrs.  Prouder's  half  ad 
miring,  half  regretful  thought ;  and  sucli  was  the 
outspoken  opinion  of  the  neighbors  when,  in  due 
course  of  time,  they  heard  of  the  transaction. 
Anne's  face  was  stonily  grave,  but  her  heart 
smiled  a  little. 

After  a  pause  Mrs.  Prouder  broke  the  silence 
again. 

"  Miss  Sparrer,  the'  dew  say  ye  gin  the  mittin' 
t'  preacher." 

"  Does  Mr.  Masten  say  so  ?  " 


KICKING  AGAINST  THE  PRICKS.         291 

"  He  hain't  said  yes  ner  no,  so  fur 's  I  Ve  heerd. 
He  hain't  denied  it,  ner  he  hain't  no  cause  t'  aout 
with  it  —  his  face  tells  it  plain  enough."  And 
the  good  woman  laughed  heartily,  as  if  it  were  a 
fine  joke  at  Masten's  expense. 

44 1  'm  not  fit  to  be  his  wife  —  or  any  man's 
wife."  Her  voice  sounded  to  Zury  hollow  and 
strange. 

44  Oh,  ye  're  a-gittin'  all  O.  K.  I  kin  see  ye 
a-gainin'  right  along." 

"  Dunno  's  I  blame  any  gal  fer  not  marryin'  a 
preacher,"  said  Zury.  "  Got  t'  be  stuck  up  all 
yer  life,  'n'  nothin'  t'  be  stuck  up  on  !  'T  ain't  as 
though  a  preacher  hed  a  farm,  or  even  a  good 
trade  —  blacksmithin'  or  sech  like.  But  no,  it 's 
talk,  talk,  talk,  fust  in  one  place  an'  then  in  an 
other,  a-suitin'  folks  or  not  a-suitin'  'em  ;  jest  like 
a-sayin'  t'  everybody, '  d'  ye  like  me  ?  Then  give 
me  a  shillin' ! '  Naow  a  farmer,  ef  folks  don't 
want  his  truck  he  kin  eat  it  himself;  but  a 
preacher,  er  a  lawyer,  er  a  docter,  their  truck  ain't 
no  'caount  unless  it 's  took  —  they  can't  live  on 
it!" 

44  Eureka  Anstey  would  make  the  best  wife  in 
the  world  for  Mr.  Hasten. " 

44  Oh,  Reekie,  she  's  all  right  fer  some  farmer's 
boy.  But  the'  's  a  slew  o'  little  Anstey's,  'n'  th' 
farm  mortgidged  up  t'  th'  handle  a'ready.  Th' 
haouse  ain't  none  tew  large,  nuther,  —  though  I 
s'pose  the'  could  make  another  bed-place  up  gar 
ret  by  a-hangin'  up  comforters  'n'  sich.  Naow 
preacher  he'd  orter  marry  some  gal  thet  her 


292  ZURY. 

father  could  set  her  off  a  leetle  of  a  farm  —  er 
anyways  a  haouse-lot  V  a  woods-lot,  V  some 
parster  V  medder." 

"  That  is  true,  and  that  would  be  a  good  reason 
for  my  not  marrying  Mr.  Hasten." 

"  Oh,  yer  school  teachin'  'd  help  some,"  said 
Flora,  —  till  th'  babies  begun  t'  come  —  V  after 
wards,  between  whiles,  ef  ye  warn't  blest  with 
many." 

"  What  a  vista  !  "  thought  Anne. 

"  Miss  Sparrer,"  said  Zury,  "  Johnny  McVey 
is  dead  gone  on  yew.  As  the'  say,  '  his  eyes  is 
sot.'" 

"  Naow  Zury,  ye  know  ye  allers  'llaowed,  yer- 
self,  haow  't  Johnny  wuz  weak  in  th'  upper 
story." 

"Wai  —  yes,  in  a  way.  I  dew  guess  't 
Johnny  'd  weigh  more  ef  his  head  wuz  cut  off,  — 
but  mebbe  he  'd  make  all  the  better  o'  man  on 
that  accaount !  " 

"  A  husband  ?    Oh,  I  don't  want  any  husband  !  " 

"  Not  want  any  husband  !  "  and  Flora  looked  at 
her  newly  won  lord  and  master  in  wonder  that 
any  woman  could  talk  so. 

"  Oh,  that 's  only  her  way.  She  '11  want  one  bad 
enough  when  she  comes  to  think  it  over.  Some 
folks  never  dooz  wind  up  the  clock  till  it  runs 
daown." 

"  Johnny  ain't  much  t'  brag  on,  sure  enough, 
but  he  's  a  heap  sight  better  'n  none.  Besides, 
the'  don't  seem  to  none  o'  th'  other  fellers  took  a 
shine  t'  ye,  'xcep'  McVey  and  preacher." 


KICKING  AGAINST  THE  PRICKS.         293 

This  brought  plainly  before  Anne's  mind  the 
fact  that  any  of  "  the  other  fellows  "  would  be  far 
more  objectionable  than  gentlemanly  Johnny. 

"  But  of  course,"  she  said,  with  a  gleam  of  hope, 
"  he  would  n't  want  me  now  !  " 

"  Wouldn't  he  jest?  Ye  don't  half  know  John 
ny —  nor  other  men,  nuther  !  When  a  man's  eyes 
is  sot,  he  don't  care  ef  a  woman  wuz  to  turn  aout 
—  Apollyun  ! "  This  word  Zury  added  after  a 
vain  effort  to  remember  any  female  devil :  there 
being  none  —  in  fiction. 

"  Johnny  hain't  a  cent  in  the  world  !  "  objected 
Flora. 

"  Oh,  I  've  thought  of  that,  tew.  Yew  leave 
that  t'  me,"  said  Zury.  "  Polander  Brothers,  whar 
I  buy  my  supplies  wholesale,  in  Springville,  want 
jest  sech  a  man.  I  told  'em  so,  V  they  did  n't 
deny  it.  It  '11  come  handy,  tew,  fer  me  t'  have  a 
man  o'  my  own,  right  thar  t'  headquarters  whar 
my  stuff  comes  from." 

A  little  silence  followed  this,  broken  by  Flora. 

"  Why  !  —  I  declare  t'  man  if  she  ain't  a  cryin' ! 
Be  ye  sick,  Miss  Sparrer?  Thar,  put  yer  head 
daown  on  my  shoulder,  so.  Never  mind  yer  hat ; 
let  it  lay  thar  in  th'  bottom  o'  th'  wagin.  I  '11 
pick  it  up  afterw'ds  ;  V  I  '11  dew  up  yer  hair  agin, 
tew!  Thar,  thar,  thar!  Dear  heart!  Don't, 
don't  sob  so  !  Ye  '11  jerk  yer  insides  aout !  Jest 
come  up  V  live  with  us,  'n'  be  a  darter  t'  me  ;  V 
don't  never  marry  nobody  till  ye  have  a  min'  ter." 

A  shuddering  negative  was  all  the  reply  the 
kind  creature  could  extort. 


294  ZURY. 

Zury's  horses  needed  a  great  deal  of  attention  ; 
and  the  sun  in  his  eyes  seemed  to  trouble  him,  too. 
That  night  after  supper  he  disappeared.  The 
tenants  on  the  Peddicomb  farm  were  surprised  to 
see  him  stalking,  silent  and  alone,  all  about  the 
place.  He  wandered  over  the  whole  quarter,  half 
a  mile  square,  with  good  fences  and  cross-fences ; 
a  grove  of  young  black  walnuts,  an  orchard  only 
second  to  his  old  one,  barns  and  house  better  than 
his,  and  bursting  granary  and  corn-cribs,  and 
stacks  of  hay  in  ranks ;  and  fat  live-stock  here 
and  there  and  everywhere. 

Well,  it  was  a  nice  farm. 

And  there  was  the  poor  girl  at  the  tavern,  her 
swelled  eyes  buried  in  her  tear-dampened  pillow. 

The  more  Anne  thought,  the  more  she  felt  that 
her  future  was  being  shaped  by  a  relentless  fate 
outside  of  the  scope  of  her  feeble  powers.  Was 
the  horizon  opening  out,  or  was  it  closing  in  ? 
Her  life  had  had  a  world  of  dreams ;  some  very 
bright.  She  was  to  have  been  a  writer;  she  was 
to  have  been  the  priestess  of  a  coming  revelation  : 
even  as  late  as  her  westward  journey  she  was  to 
have  become  a  little  queen  among  the  rough  people 
she  was  to  meet  in  the  wilds.  Now,  what  was  she 
to  be  after  all  her  little  attainments  and  fond  hopes 
of  greater  ?  "  Poor  Mrs.  John  McVey  !  " 

On  the  other  hand,  in  her  times  of  depression, 
she  could  no  longer  rush  willfully  headlong  to  the 
lowest  depths,  and  grovel  there ;  for  unless  Mc 
Vey  should  desert  her  now,  a  life  of  usefulness 
and  respectability  was  within  her  reach. 


KICKING  AGAINST  THE  PRICKS.         295 

But  would  John  marry  her,  after  all,  when  it 
came  to  the  point  ?  It  did  not  seem  possible  !  In 
the  still  watches  of  a  wakeful  night,  during  which, 
after  her  usual  fashion,  she  seemed  to  herself  to 
shrink  into  helpless  insignificance  while  the  world, 
fate,  and  circumstances  all  became  hideous  mon 
sters  clawing  at  her ;  she  concluded  that  she  had 
only  to  take  a  step  toward  him  to  meet  a  con 
temptuous  repulse. 

Morning  brought  more  courage  and  confidence ; 
also  more  toleration  of  the  thought  that  she  might 
gain  a  little  rest  and  comfort  and  sustenance  by 
marrying  poor  faithful  John.  As  the  heroine  in 
Hardy's  strange  novel,  u  Two  on  a  Tower,"  says 
to  her  brother,  ''Anybody  —  even  a  tinker." 

She  certainly  was  not  "  in  love "  with  John ; 
but  neither  was  she  with  any  other  man.  He 
was  more  nearly  sympathetic  with  her,  at  that 
moment,  than  any  other  person  in  that  part  of  the 
world  ;  more  like  her  in  education,  language,  habit 
of  thought  and  feeling,  than  anybody  of  either  sex 
whom  she  had  met  since  she  left  New  England. 
And  then,  too,  his  spaniel-like  devotion  had  be 
come  the  source  of  a  kind  of  comfort  to  her  under 
existing  circumstances. 

She  had  one  more  "  bad  quarter  of  an  hour." 
It  was  when  the  thought  struck  her  that  she,  the 
victim,  ought  to  adorn  herself  for  the  sacrifice ! 

B ut  she  succumbed  to  the  inevitable.  She  feared 
that  Prouder  would  interfere  again,  in  his  master 
ful  fashion,  and  in  that  way  make  her  appear  to 
herself  acting  under  his  influence  or  compulsion. 


296  ZURY. 

So  one  Sunday  morning,  with  shame  and  misgiv 
ing  she  dressed  herself  a  little  more  carefully  than 
usual,  and  invited  John  to  be  her  escort  to  church 
—  the  first  time  she  had  ever  done  him  that  honor. 
On  the  way  she  talked  long,  seriously,  and  doubt 
less  fully  with  John. 

The  good  fellow  only  tried  to  eat  his  humble 
pie  as  proudly  as  possible. 

"  Of  course,  it 's  proper  to  let  the  past  be  past. 
And  then,  as  to  the  future  "  —  He  paused. 

"I  am  not  putting  myself  up  at^uction,  nor 
offering  inducements  to  strike  a  bar^in  !  " 

"  Well,  supposin'  I  was  to  make  a  proposi 
tion  "  —  Another  pause. 

"  I  shall  not  consider  any  supposed  case.  If 
you  have  any  proposition  to  make,  uncondition 
ally,  make  it ;  if  not,  let  us  drop  the  subject." 

Johnny  looked  at  her  with  dumb  and  unspeak 
able  admiration.  He  thought  to  himself,  "She's 
more  of  a  man,  if  anything,  than  Zury  Prouder 
himself !  "  The  force  of  language  could  no  further 
go  than  this. 

Anne  made  as  if  to  terminate  the  interview, 
and  John  was  panic-stricken. 

"  You  are  as  blameless  as  a  woman  can  be,  and 
I  propose  to  —  marry  you." 

She  waited  to  see  if  there  were  to  be  any  con 
ditions.  None  came,  happily  for  all  concerned. 

"  Then  I  accept  you,  and  will  make  you  a  true, 
honest,  and  faithful  wife,  as  long  as  we  both  shall 
live."  She  gave  him  her  hand  and  turned  away 
her  face,  in  trembling  expectation  that  he  would 


KICKING  AGAINST  THE  PRICKS.          297 

take  some  instant,  advantage  of  her  surrender. 
But  he  only  shook  hands  as  on  a  bargain  struck. 
And  then  and  thenceforth  she  remained  as  to  him 
as  completely  mistress  of  herself  as  this  auspicious 
beginning  presaged. 

What  a  relief !  •  None  the  less  for  the  knowl 
edge  that  her  future  husband  had  only  hesitated 
for  appearance'  sake  —  that  he  had  never  for  a 
moment  wavered  in  his  absorbing  wish  to  marry 
her  —  to  tie  his  weak  nature  to  her  stronger  one 
by  a  sustaining  bond.  After  all,  as  a  man  was  only 
a  necessary  appendage,  the  lighter  the  appendage 
the  slighter  the  personal  sacrifice.  And  if  the 
chief  question  to  be  considered  was  "  which  is  to 
be  head  of  the  house  ?  "  —  she  almost  smiled  as 
she  propounded  this  simplest  of  problems,  as  be 
tween  her  and  John  Endicott  McVey. 

After  "  meeting  "  she,  to  avoid  tiresome  talk 
ers,  concluded  to.  walk  home ;  the  way  was  a 
little  long,  and  she  took  the  arm  of  her  affianced. 
He  was  very  strong  though  so  slender,  and  she 
had  a  perceptible  satisfaction  in  leaning  on  him. 

"  Oh  John"  —  the  first  time  she  had  ever  called 
him  so  —  "make  a  home  for  me,  quickly,  and  take 
me  to  it !  " 

"  Well,  after  dinner  I  '11  step  over  to  "  — 

"  No  !  never  mind  telling  me  where  you  go,  or 
whom  you  see,  or  what  he  says.  Just  do  the  best 
you  can  ;  at  once"  This  was  not  said  impera 
tively,  only  urgently  and  pathetically.  "  I  long 
for  some  place  that  is  n't  here,  and  some  time  that 
is  n't  now." 


298  ZURY. 

That  very  evening  John  called,  full  of  plans. 
Mr.  Prouder  was  to  let  them  have  a  wagon,  horses, 
and  harness,  to  take  them  to  Springville,  and  be 
sold  or  kept  for  use  as  they  might  elect ;  he  charg 
ing  the  value  of  the  outfit  to  the  fund  he  should 
recover  from  the  county  on  account  of  the  riotous 
destruction.  Whatever  room  was  left  in  the  ve 
hicle  he  was  to  fill  with  household  supplies  from 
the  farm,  charging  them  to  the  same  account. 
The  balance  he  was  to  pay  in  money.  Then  he 
was  to  accompany  them  to  Springville  and  install 
John  in  his  employment  as  bookkeeper  for  Polan- 
der  Brothers. 

All  well  except  the  last  clause.  Mr.  Prouder 
must  not  accompany  them  to  Springville  —  not 
on  any  account.  In  fact,  they  would  not  do  any 
thing  until  John's  position  was  assured.  No ; 
Anne  would  not  see  Mr.  Prouder  about  it  herself ; 
she  would  rather  depend  entirely  on  John.  She 
felt  such  reliance  on  his  prudence  and  ability  ! 

Well,  then,  John  and  Zury  were  to  go  to 
Springville  at  once  and  get  to  work,  and  then 
Zury  would  come  back  and  bring  Anne  on  and  all 
her  things  —  attend  to  everything  for  her.  The 
marriage  to  take  place  at  Springville. 

All  satisfactory  except  having  Mr.  Prouder 
troubled  about  Anne  and  her  things.  He  and 
John  might  go  to  Springville  as  suggested ;  and 
then  as  soon  as  possible —  the  sooner  the  better  — 
John  could  get  leave  of  absence  and  come  for  her 
and  marry  her ;  and  then  they  two  could  drive  to 
Springville  alone,  for  a  wedding  trip  !  She  was 


KICKING  AGAINST  THE  PRICKS.          299 

sure  John  would  not  like  to  have  his  wife  run 
after  him  all  over  the  country !  Otherwise  John 
had  arranged  everything  beautifully !  No  ;  she 
would  not  interfere  herself.  John  must  do  it  all. 
Only  make  haste ! 

So  said  so  done.  Anticipating  a  little,  we  may 
say  here  that  all  John's  plans  were  carried  out 
to  the  letter;  and,  while  this  arrangement  was 
very  advantageous  to  Anne  and  her  husband,  it 
turned  out  very  much  so  to  Zury  Prouder  too. 
The  prices  he  charged  were  good,  the  money  bal 
ance  was  small,  and  the  county  finally  paid  for 
everything,  principal  and  interest. 

"  The'  dew  'llaow  't  Miss  Sparrer  she  's  tuck  up 
with  Johnny  McVey  arter  all  said  'n'  done ! " 

It  was  old  Anstey  who  imparted  this  momen 
tous  intelligence  to  the  astounded  world  —  con 
sisting  of  Mrs.  Anstey  and  the  family. 

"  Oh,  father !     Not  really  !  " 

"Wai  —  I  met  Zury  Prouder,  'n' he  wuz  jest 
plum  full  on  it !  He  'llaowed  he  'd  taxed  Johnny 
with  it  'n'  Johnny  he  never  denied  it ;  'n'  I  axed 
Zury  what  on  th'  footstule  the'  'llaowed  t'  live 
on,  'n'  he  'llaowed  the'  wuz  a-goin'  t'  Springville, 
whar  Johnny  he  's  gotten  a  place  a-clerkin'  in  a 
store." 

"  Don't  ye  know  what 's  done  it  —  what 's  made 
her  take  up  with  Johnny?"  asked  Mrs.  Anstey. 
"  Nothin'  in  God's  world  but  larnin' !  Ef  Johnny 
'd  a  be'n  ign'rnt,  low-daown  trash  like  yew,  'Bijah 
Anstey,  she  would  n't  a  never  a  looked  at  him  ! 


300  ZURY. 

No,  ner  his  shadder  !  not  ef  he  'd  a-liad  a  hunderd 
dollars  in  gold  !  " 

"  A  hunderd  dollars  is  right  smart  o'  money  !  " 

"  I  don't  c'yar  !  Larnin'  's  wuth  more  ner  a 
hunderd  dollars.  Right  smart  more."  Of  course 
Mrs.  Anstey  spoke  under  great  excitement. 
"'N'  yit  I  can't  never  git  none  on  ye  t'  read  yer 
book  'ceptin'  Reekie.  I  've  a  notion  t'  cut  a  good 
gad  apiece  fer  ye  all  raound,  'n'  mark  yer  names 
on  'em,  'n'  jest  wear  'em  aout  on  ye  so  I  will,  t' 
see  ef  I  can't  git  ye  t'  ten'  t'  yer  larnin'  when 
scule  opens  agin." 

"Oh  sho!"  retorted  'Bijah.  "Preacher  he's 
got  larnin',  tew,  'n'  yit  she  upped  'n'  mittened 
him.  It  wuz  jest  'cause  he  couldn't  talk  like 
Johnny,  'n'  say  4  Boys  ye  caw  n't  fawncy  th'  ad- 
vawntages  of  educat-i-o-n  '  like  Johnny  use'  ter." 

"  'BIJAH  !  "  cried  Eureka.  And  she  came  at 
him  as  if  she  had  been  six  feet  high,  with  eyes  blaz 
ing  as  if  they  would  have  set  fire  to  his  hair.  He 
darted  out  of  the  door,  then  paused  to  call  in 
through  the  window,  — 

"  Oh,  Reek,  yew  hain't  no  call  t'  beller.  She 's 
left  preacher  fer  yew." 

Now  she  did  "go  for  "  'Bijah.  Around  the 
house,  through  the  garden,  over  the  fence,  and 
down  the  road,  the  strong  youth,  impeded  by 
laughing,  had  all  he  could  do  to  keep  out  of  her 
reach.  And  when  as  a  parting  shot  she  threw  a 
"  chunk  "  after  his  flying  figure,  it  almost  struck 
Mr.  Masten,  coming  to  call  for  the  first  time  since 
he  had  escorted  Anne  from  there  as  has  been  told. 


KICKING  AGAINST  THE  PRICKS.         301 

Yes,  he  did  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  eyes,  before 
she  turned  and  flew  toward  home.  Who  could 
could  help  it  ?  They  took  up  some  space  in  the 
horizon,  and  possibly  paled  the  sunshine  a  little. 

Eureka  in  her  Sunday-go-to-meeting  best  vis 
ited  Anne,  and  her  glowing  account  put  the  mat 
ter  beyond  doubt.  Miss  Sparrow  looked  almost 
as  hearty  as  ever.  Johnny  had  gone  to  Spring- 
ville  and  begun  clerking  for  Polander  Brothers, 
and  his  salary,  wonderful  to  relate,  was  fifty  dol 
lars  a  month  !  Such  is  the  power  of  education. 

Johnny  was  coming  back  some  day  next  week 
—  exact  day  uncertain  —  and  the  following  morn 
ing  Squire  Brown  was  to  marry  them,  and  they  'd 
get  started  for  Spring ville  as  soon  after  sun-up  as 
might  be. 

"No  party?"  roared  'Bijah.  "Then  we'll 
give  them  one,  fust  chance  we  git.  A  good  one, 
tew.  Chivaree  ain't  no  name  fer  it.  Whar  's  my 
tin  horn?  Whar's  th'  ole  tin  milk-pail  with  a 
stone  in  it?  Whar  's  th'  ole  shot-gun  V  th'  paow- 
der-horn  ?  " 

"  Wai,  sonny,  I  guess  I  '11  keep  th'  shot-gun  'n' 
th'  paowder-horn.  I  may  need  'em.  With  that 
shot-gun  'n'  a  couple  o'  han'f  Is  o'  rock  salt,  I 
guess  I  mought  take  a  hand  in  that  thar  chivaree 
that  '11  s'prise  ye  some.  'N'  ef  rock  salt  won't 
give  ye  yer  belly  full  o'  fun,  I  '11  have  a  small 
charge  er  tew  o'  bird-shot  th't  '11  make  ye  sing 
laouder  'n'  make  right  smart  more  noise  th'n  all 
yer  tin  horns." 

Eureka  did  not  tell  how  much  of  her  talk  with 


302  ZURY. 

Anne  ran  upon  the  subject  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Hasten.  But  then,  so  did  her  talk  with  Mr. 
Masten  run  upon  the  subject  of  Anne  Sparrow. 
So  that  could  n't  cut  any  figure,  now  could  it  ? 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  NOVELTY  IN   NOVEL  WEDDING-TRIPS. 

A  WEDDING  and  a  bridal  trip.  What  an  oppor 
tunity  for  the  romancer !  How  easy  to  enchain 
all  readers,  of  any  age,  sex,  color,  or  previous  con 
dition  of  servitude  !  No  need  to  be  graphic,  witty, 
picturesque  in  order  to  be  interesting,  the  mere 
theme  does  it  all.  No  need  to  condense;  the  more 
diffuse,  minute,  circumstantial,  familiar,  and  confi 
dential,  the  better,  with  such  events  to  tell  about. 

Now  this  was  not  exactly  that  kind  of  marriage 
and  wedding  tour.  Yet  it  was  better  than  none, 
and  Anne  was  not  unhappy.  They  talked  about 
Boston,  where  they  had  a  very  few  common  ac 
quaintances — notably  the  State  House  and  Beacon 
Street  —  and  this  made  a  certain  sympathy,  of 
course.  They  talked  of  Wayback  with  an  out 
side  view  of  its  peculiar  characteristics  such  as 
no  one  else  in  that  part  of  the  world  was  qualified 
to  take.  This  made  more  sympathy.  Then  when 
toward  the  end  of  the  long  ten  hours  drive,  Anne 
grew  very  tired,  and  she  clasped  her  hands  on  his 
shoulder  and  rested  her  head  on  them,  it  was  with 
quite  an  affectionate  feeling,  certainly  not  wifely, 
scarcely  sisterly,  more,  as  she  laughingly  told 
him,  as  if  she  were  his  aunt.  He  did  not  object, 


304  ZURY. 

he  laughed  too,  and  promised  that  if  she  would  be 
an  aunt  to  him  he  would  reciprocate  by  being  an 
uncle  to  her,  and  all  went  merry  as  a  —  bell  of 
some  kind  not  yet  named. 

When  they  began  their  residence  in  Spring- 
ville,  John  was  for  keeping  the  horses,  selling  the 
wagon,  and  buying  a  carriage  for  their  own  use. 
Of  course  they  were  not  always  going  to  live  on 
fifty  dollars  a  month  !  He  had  vague  expecta 
tions  of  additional  income  from  sources  to  be 
opened  to  him  by  outside  aid  —  "capitle"to  be 
obtained. 

But  here  he  was  firmly  "  sat  down  on,"  and  the 
whole  outfit  promptly  sold  to  reinforce  the  family 
exchequer.  These  avails,  and  Anne's  other  be 
longings,  went  far  toward  preparing  for  her  (them 
we  mean)  a  cottage  where  she  (that  is,  they) 
started  to  keep  house,  and  very  nicely  too.  Mc- 
Vey  accepted  his  improved  fate  without  a  mur 
mur,  avoiding  all  reference  to  any  part  of  the 
past  which  Anne  preferred  to  drop  out  of  sight. 

At  the  "  let  out "  of  the  Wayback  meeting  on 
a  Sunday  soon  after  this,  gossip  ran  thus :  — 

44  What 's  the  matter  o'  Zury  Proauder  ?  He 
ain't  opened  his  lips  fer  a  coon's  age !  " 

44  N'  more  he  hain't !  Wai,  naow  ;  what 's  up  ? 
Some  misch'f  in  Zury's  head  you  bet !  He  ain't 
a-makin'  no  big  deal  's  I  know  on." 

44  Not 's  I  know  on  nuther.  Ef  the'  's  a  hen  on  I 
hain't  hearn  a  word  of  it." 

44  A  settin'  hen  don't  cackle.  I  bet  ye  hear  on 
't  when  she  hatches." 


A  NOVELTY  IN  WEDDING  TRIPS.         305 

44 1  b'lieve  ye !  Zury's  long  head  don't  work 
fer  the  fun  of  it." 

44  No  man  th't  knows  him  as  I  dew  won't  buy 
ner  sell  with  him  when  he 's  the  way  he  is  naow." 

44  Ef  my  own  mother  'n'  law  wuz  a  dickerin' 
with  him  now,  I  'd  caounsel  her  t'  back  aout." 

Then  another  speaker  volunteered  an  explana 
tion  of  the  phenomenon  in  question,  which  turned 
speculation  into  a  new  channel,  and  carried  con 
viction  to  the  minds  of  all. 

44  Oh  yew  smarties !  Don't  ye  guess  what 's 
the  matter  o'  Zury  ?  Ye  dunno  n'  more  'n  a  last 
year's  bird's  nest !  Reckon  ye  've  forgot  the  We'ns- 
d'y  meetin'  'baout  the  school-haouse  fire!  Don't 
ye  reckleck  haow  Zury  wuz  kinder  druv  t'  'gree 
t'  settle  that  bill  'n'  look  t'  the  caounty  for  his 
pay?" 

44  Jesso,  jesso,  Tom  !  Ye  're  right !  'N'  naow 
he 's  aout  his  money  'n'  schemin'  haow  t'  git  it 
back." 

44  Mebbe  so  —  mebbe  so.  Wai,  ef  so  be  Zury 's 
after  Spring  Caounty,  Spring  Caounty  'd  better 
be  a-hustlin'  'n'  a  perparin'  to  be  picked  up  'n' 
car  Yd  off." 

44  Right  ye  are,  pard !  We  'uns  better  git  all 
aour  farms  spiked  daown  tight,  er  Zury  '11  hev  'em 
rolled  up  'n'  sold  at  sheriff  sale,  t'  pay  his  claim." 

But  all  the  gibing  wiseacres  were  wrong.  Zury 
did  n't  himself  know  what  was  the  matter  with 
him,  but  he  did  know  that  it  was  not  any  anxiety 
about  his  claim  for  indemnity  in  the  fire  matter. 
On  the  contrary,  the  chief  consolation  he  found 


306  ZURY. 

in  his  glum  and  sulky  state  was  the  thought  of 
having  helped  poor  Anne  out  of  her  sorest  straits. 
Every  little  aid  he  had  ever  rendered  her  he  rolled 
as  a  sweet  morsel  under  his  tongue,  and  her  gentle 
looks  and  tones  of  thanks  haunted  his  memory, 
scanty  as  they  had  been. 

A  few  months  after  the  McVeys  were  settled, 
Prouder  visited  Springville  on  business.  All  the 
long  way  there  his  mind  dwelt  on  the  coming 
meeting  with  them,  but  a  disappointment  was  in 
store  for  him.  Anne  met  him  at  her  door,  her 
sewing  in  her  hands,  and  greeted  him  kindly,  but 
did  not  ask  him  in.  She  was  really  sorry  to  an 
noy  and  disappoint  him,  but  she  could  not  help  it. 
If  he  would  come  with  John  at  night  she  would  be 
glad  to  see  him,  but  just  now  she  was  —  too  busy. 

He  did  not  come,  which  made  her  glad  and 
sorry  together.  He  would  have  amused  her,  but 
she  would  have  felt  it  rather  awkward.  As  for 
Zury,  he  made  his  way  back  home  in  a  very 
thoughtful  frame  of  mind.  His  answers  to  the 
numerous  questions  put  to  him  about  Anne  were 
reasonably  profuse  and  circumstantial,  but  quite 
general ;  he  did  not  tell  that  she  had  coolly  dis 
missed  him  with  as  few  words  as  civility  would 
allow.  Fortunately  Anne's  front  door  opened 
into  the  main  living-room,  so  that  he  was  pre 
pared  to  give  a  highly  satisfactory  account  of  her 
surroundings  —  and  to  say  that  she  looked  remark 
ably  well. 

When  John  came  home  at  night  he  said, — 

"Zury  Prouder 's  been  at  the  store  'most   all 


A  NOVELTY  IN  WEDDING   TRIPS.         307 

day,  and  this  afternoon  I  showed  him  the  way  out 
here." 

"  Yes  —  he  called." 

"  Did  he  stay  long  ?  " 

"  No  —  he  did  n't  come  in." 

"  Not  come  in  !     The  nati-o-n  !  " 

"I  did  not  ask  him  in." 

John  was  rather  dumbfounded  at  this.  After  a 
pause  he  resumed,  — 

"  Well,  we  're  considerable  obliged  to  Mr. 
Prouder." 

"  Yes  —  all  we  are  ever  going  to  be." 

44  Did  he  say  anything  about  capitle." 

"  Of  course  not !  " 

Poor  John  was  evidently  quite  disconcerted. 
Without  sacrificing  either  himself  or  his  wife,  he 
would  have  liked  to  receive  capitle  from  Zury, 
because  capitle  was  what  he  had  really  needed 
all  his  life,  and  he  saw  no  reason  why  he  should 
not  have  it.  Other  men  had  capitle,  and  it 
seemed  to  do  them  all  good.  They  liked  capitle ; 
so  should  he. 

He  secretly  determined  to  broach  the  interest 
ing  subject  of  capitle  to  Zury  again,  the  first  time 
he  found  a  good  opportunity. 

In  this  cottage  Anne  McVey's  twin  babies  were 
born.  She  named  them  Philip  and  Margaret,  her 
two  favorite  names,  long  prepared  for  use  as  al 
ternatives  and  now,  happily,  both  made  available. 
Never,  from  their  natal  hour,  were  her  "  twin- 
nies"  aught  but  comforts  and  blessings  to  her. 


308  ZURY. 

Before  they  were  a  month  old  she  found,  to  her 
surprise,  that  darkness  had  lost  its  terrors.  She 
could  "  put  her  feet  to  the  unseen  floor  "  at  any 
moment,  in  their  service  —  Nature  had  become 
her  friend,  her  sister  in  motherhood,  instead  of  an 
alien  and  an  enemy.  Time  passed,  and  she 
learned  that  Mrs.  Prouder's  motherly  hopes  were 
disappointed.  Flora's  experience  was  much  the 
same  as  had  been  that  of  her  sister  Mary,  only 
her  baby  had  lived  but  a  few  hours  instead  of 
months.  Anne's  heart  went  out  in  pity  and  sym 
pathy  to  the  bereaved  parents,  and  she  sighed  to 
think  of  that  great,  rich,  childless  household. 

On  a  certain  summer  afternoon,  when  her  lit 
tle  darlings  were  old  enough  to  creep  about,  she 
sat  sewing  in  the  shade  of  the  cottage  while  they 
played  in  the  grass  at  her  feet.  She  heard  the 
gate  open,  and  in  walked  —  Zury  Prouder. 

"  God  bless  'n'  presarve  all  here!  Mis  Spar- 
rer  —  McVey,  I  should  say  —  I  don't  s'pose  ye '11 
object  t'  my  comin'  as  fur  as  this  ?  " 

She  could  not.  He  was  there  already.  And  if 
she  had  had  an  enemy  in  the  world,  and  he  were 
that  enemy,  still  she  could  not  have  the  heart  to 
refuse  him  a  sight  of  those  treasures !  What 
crime  could  any  one  be  guilty  of,  that  would 
merit  such  a  punishment  ? 

Zury  sat  down  on  the  ground  and  watched  the 
little  ones  long  and  in  silence.  The  boy  would 
creep  up  fearlessly,  and  climb  with  his  fat  hands 
on  Zury's  knees,  but  the  girl  kept  close  to  her 
mother.  Zury  took  up  the  little  fellow  and  let 


A   NOVELTY  IN  WEDDING   TRIPS.         309 

him  pull  his  hair,  while  he  admired  the  sturdy 
limbs  of  the  perfect  child. 

"  Be  ye  happy  with  yer  childern  ?  " 

"I  ask  nothing  from  heaven  or  earth  except 
prosperity  for  my  boy  and  girl." 

"  Looks  like  a  little  heaven  here  below !  " 

Zury  scarcely  ever  in  his  life  passed  an  hour, 
in  company,  so  silently  as  this.  And  Anne  sat 
there  and  dreamed  out  a  future  for  her  children. 
Why  should  not  this  rich  man  make  them  rich, 
when  they  grew  older  and  needed  money  to  se 
cure  for  them  a  place  in  the  world  such  as  she 
could  not  give  them  ?  It  did  not  seem  wrong  and 
inhuman  to  her  to  wish  that  an  old  man  should 
die  just  in  the  very  nick  of  time  to  benefit  them. 
So  one-sided  is  the  heart  and  conscience  of  the 
natural  mother  !  She  would  joyfully  sacrifice  her 
own  life  for  them,  if  need  be,  —  why  not  be 
equally  willing  that  Zury  should  die  in  the  same 
good  cause  ? 

"  Be  ye  fixed  t'  suit  ye  h'yer  ?  "  She  looked 
up  quickly,  and  did  not  reply. 

"  I  mean  t'  say,  ef  the'  's  anythin'  I  kin  dew  — 
anythin'  more  —  t'  make  up  fer  any  trouble  ye  've 
had  "  —  An  awkward  pause. 

44  When  I  want  anything  from  you  I  '11  ask  you 
for  it.  And  if  I  owe  you  anything  I  beg  you  '11 
send  the  bill !  "  And  her  brows  met  over  angry 
eyes. 

"  Ain't  ye  pootty  hard  on  me  ? "  he  asked, 
"  lonesome  as  I  be !  Ye  've  got  yer  babes,  V  I 
hain't  got  nothin'  —  'ceptin'  money  !  An'  not 


310  ZURY. 

much  o'  that,  come  t'  think."  He  turned  again 
to  playing  with  the  boy.  She  felt  a  touch  of  pity, 
and  was  sorry  for  her  bitterness. 

McVey  came  home  while  they  were  all  thus 
engaged.  He  was  delighted  to  see  Mr.  Prouder, 
and  urged  him  to  stay  to  tea.  He  accepted  as 
soon  as  Anne  added  her  invitation,  and  she  left 
her  precious  charges  to  them  while  she  prepared 
the  meal.  In  the  evening,  McVey  walked  with 
Prouder  to  his  hotel.  When  he  got  back  Anne 
asked  him  what  they  had  talked  about.  John 
hemmed  and  hawed,  but  made  a  very  poor  show 
ing  of  the  conversation. 

As  Anne  composed  herself  to  sleep,  a  baby  on 
each  side  as  was  her  wont,  she  said  to  herself :  — 

"  Well,  small  danger  of  Mr.  Prouder's  wasting 
the  children's  fortunes  in  '  capitle  '  on  poor  John. 
But  then  John's  asking  him  to  do  so  is  rather 
mortifying.  On  the  other  hand,  let  him  do  it ! 
It  will  keep  Prouder  from  any  very  frequent  vis- 
itings,  which  would  be  intolerable."  And  so  did 
things  settle  themselves  down.  Prouder's  visits 
to  Springville  were  not  frequent,  and  his  calls  at 
the  McVey  cottage  were  equally  irregular  and 
not  brilliantly  agreeable ;  Anne  refusing  to  see 
him  when  her  husband  was  not  present,  and  John 
making  himself  a  bore  when  he  was.  Besides,  as 
the  years  passed,  the  children  were  no  longer  quite 
so  entrancingly  interesting.  Phil  and  Meg  were 
like  other  children  —  when  they  first  came,  mi 
raculous  phenomena ;  when  they  grew  up,  inter 
esting  individuals ;  but  between  whiles  nothing 


A  NOVELTY  IN  WEDDING  TRIPS.         311 

more  than  ordinary  specimens  of  the  young  of 
their  race :  the  boy  often  good,  the  girl  never  any 
thing  else. 

When  they  were  a  few  years  older,  however, 
something  occurred  which  showed  that  Zury  was 
aware  of  their  existence.  On  a  certain  day,  Anne 
while  at  the  store,  attending  to  some  of  John's 
work  (as  she  often  had  to  do  now  when  he  fell 
behind),  was  called  to  the  door  to  see  a  friend. 
There,  in  Zury's  wagon  which  bad  brought  her 
all  the  way  from  Wayback,  sat  Mrs.  Prouder, 
unmistakable,  though  she  now  looked  a  little 
like  two  Flora  Peddicombs  rolled  into  one. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Prouder  !  " 

"  Wai,  Mis  McVey  !  "  (These  greetings  were 
given  in  an  affectionately  pathetic  tone,  beginning 
high  and  dropping  suddenly  at  the  closing  word 
—  as  if  to  say,  "I  've  waited  long  for  this  reunion, 
but  now  it 's  come  and  I  'm  consoled  for  all.") 

"  Bless  yer  heart !     Ye  're  a-lookin'  peart." 

"  I'm  always  well.     How  well  you  look  !  " 

"  Ya-as.  What  there  is  of  me,  V  plenty  of  me 
sech  as  it  is.  Johnny  well  ?  " 

"  Very  well.  He  's  gone  down  the  river  on  a 
fishing  expedition." 

"  Did  yer  twins  both  live  ?  I  heerd  ye  hed 
twins." 

Did  her  babies  live  !  What  a  horrid  question  ! 
u  Oh,  yes  —  certainly.  They  are  both  alive  and 
well." 

"  Boy  V  gal,  hey  ?     Lessee,  haow  old  be  the*  ?  " 

"  They  are  —  about  five." 


312  ZURY. 

"  Oh,  it 's  six  years  this  summer  since  ye  lef ' 
Wayback,  ain't  it  ?  I  often  thought  I  'd  knit  'em 
s'm  mittins  sometime,  ef  I  only  knowed  the'r 
birthday." 

"  Oh,  Christmas  is  our  great  day.  Six  years  — 
how  time  flies,  does  n't  it!  My  heart  did  bleed 
for  you  when  I  heard  of  your  disappointment, 
your  bereavement." 

"  Thar,  thar,  tliar  !  "  And  the  poor  creature 
sniffled  excessively  in  the  delay  of  searching  for 
her  handkerchief,  —  a  delay  which  obviated  any- 
absolute  necessity  for  its  use. 

*'  Never  had  no  more,  hey  ?  " 

"  Never  any  more." 

"  Ye  '11  'scuse  my  not  a-gittin'  aout,  wun't  ye  ? 
I  don't  never  'llaow  t'  git  in  'n'  aout  o'  wagin 
more  'n  wunst  a  day,  an'  me  'n'  Zury  we  'llaowed 
t'  drive  'raoun'  'n'  see  ye  shortly." 

"  How  nice  !  I  '11  hurry  home  and  get  ready 
for  you." 

The  visit  was  pathetic.  Zury  walked  about 
the  little  garden,  while  poor  Flora  went  in  and 
gazed  tearfully  at  the  children.  They,  with  the 
unconscious  cruelty  of  the  savage  in  our  nature, 
disliked  and  feared  her.  They  clung  obstinately 
to  their  mother,  and  Phil  pointed  at  Flora  and 
said  in  a  loud  voice,  — 

"  What  makes  her  cry  so  ?  " 

"  Because  she  has  n't  any  little  boy  and  girl,  my 
son." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  I  "  Then,  after  a  pause,  "  I 
thought  she  had  a  great  —  big  —  stomercake." 


A   NOVELTY  IN   WEDDING   TRIPS.       313 

"  Margaret,"  Anne  whispered,  "  Mrs.  Prouder 
had  a  little  girl  once,  but  it  died." 

"Died?     What  is  died?" 

"  Died,  you  know,  and  was  buried  —  like  your 
little  bird,  don't  you  remember  ?  Now  don't  you 
think  you  could  go  over  and  comfort  her  a 
little  ?  " 

Thereupon  the  dutiful  little  soul,  sorely  against 
her  will,  stepped  snail-like  toward  the  large,  repul-. 
sive  visitor,  her  progress  being  at  about  the  rate 
of  one  carpet-figure  a  minute.  When  she  reached 
her,  Mrs.  Prouder  took  her  on  her  knees,  what 
there  was  of  them  available,  and  cried  so  much 
harder  than  ever  that  the  child  soon  got  down 
and  retreated  to  her  mother,  fairly  bawling,  with 
knuckles  buried  in  both  eyes. 

"  Never  mind,  Mrs.  Prouder.  (There,  there, 
my  dear  little  girl !)  They  '11  come  around  in 
time  to  loving  you  as  their  mother  does.  (Now 
Margaret,  that  's  enough.  You  must  be  quiet. 
There  —  mother  is  holding  you  tight.  Don't  you 
both  want  to  go  out  in  the  garden  and  see  Mr. 
Prouder?)  " 

Phil  escaped  with  a  rush,  but  Margaret  was  far 
from  flying  present  evils  by  rushing  to  others 
that  she  knew  not  of. 

By  turning  Mrs.  Prouder's  thoughts  to  Way- 
back  matters,  Anne  soon  managed  to  dry  up  the 
geyser  of  grief  and  regret. 

u  Preacher  V  Reekie  Anstey  upped  V  mar'r'd 
right  away  after  yew  left.  Th'  ol'  folks  'llaowed 
the'  both  hed  t'  talk  abaout  yew  s'  much  't  the'  hed 


314  ZURY. 

t'  marry  t'  git  time  fer  it  all.  Then  the'  tuk  th'  scule 
t'gether,  'n'  run  it  on  yer  own  lines.  Reekie  she 
knaowed  haow,  'n'  the'  run  it  splendid.  Deestrick 
Number  Seven  's  got  t'  be  knaowed  all  over  the 
caounty,  'n'  other  caounties  tew.  Got  t'  be  so  's 
the'  hed  t'  set  a  day  fer  visitors :  so  many  scule- 
boards  wanted  t'  come  'n'  see  it,  it  interfered." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  Now  you  make  me  cry.  I  have 
n't  lived  in  vain,  after  all,  have  I  ?  " 

"  In  vain  ?  Lived  in  vain  ?  Not  by  right 
smart,  I  tell  ye!  Wai,  's  I  wuz  a-saying,  the' 
kep'  th'  school  till  the  babies  begun  to  come,  'n' 
the'r  fust  bein'  a  gal,  the'  called  it  Anne  McVey 
Masten,  as  of  course  ye  've  heer'd.  'N'  then  con- 
f'r'nce  took  a-holt  o'  Masten,  'n'  give  him  a  big 
lift.  'N'  so  we  lost  'em,  wuss  luck !  " 

Now  Zury  looked  in. 

"  Mis  McVey,  me  'n'  Phil 's  fixed  it  up  t'  take 
a  leetle  ride  in  th'  wagin,  'n'  bait  th'  team  at  the 
tavern,  'n'  git  a  bite  thar  ourselves,  'n'  then  come 
back  fer  Flory,  ef  ye  kin  give  her  what  leetle  her 
stomick  requires  'twixt  naow  'n'  night." 

Anne  was  about  to  say  no,  suddenly  and  decid 
edly.  But  Phil's  dancing  eyes  and  eager  words 
prevailed. 

44  My  little  boy  has  never  eaten  a  meal  away 
from  his  mother  in  his  life." 

"  I  wanter  go  in  the  wagin." 

44  Why  could  n't  you  take  a  little  ride  and  come 
back  here  before  you  go  to  the  stable  ?  " 

44  I  wanter  go  in  the  stable." 

44  Or  you  might  take  the  team  to  the  stable  and 


A  NOVELTY  IN    WEDDING   TRIPS.       315 

then  come  back  here  for  dinner  instead  of  to  the 
tavern." 

"  I  wanter  go  in  the  tavern." 

"  Ye  see,  Mis  McVey,  Phil 's  made  up  his  mind 
it 's  time  fer  him  t'  begin  t'  see  the  world." 

"  I  wanter  see  the  world." 

There  was  no  resisting  this.  So  off  they  went 
—  two  happy  beings,  it  is  hard  to  say  which  the 
happier. 

"  Remember,",  said  Anne  in  kissing  her  boy 
good-bye.  "  Nothing  but  meat  and  vegetables 
and  bread.  No  tea  or  coffee." 

"I  wanter  drink  tea  an'  coffee." 

But  here  Anne  drew  the  line.  The  wild  license 
of  this  orgie  must  stop  short  of  tea  and  coffee. 

Flora's  admiration  of  Anne's  pretty  household 
adornments — utterly  simple  and  entirely  home 
made  as  they  were  —  was  gratifying.  Said 
Flora, — 

"  Thet  's  what  it  is  t'  live  intew  a  city." 

Anne  was  tempted  to  tell  and  teach  the  rustic 
that  all  this  and  much  more  was  possible  in  her 
own  ugly  home,  but  as  no  instruction  was  asked, 
she  saw  that  it  would  be  bad  manners  to  intrude 
even  good  taste  and  good  sense  on  her  guest.  She 
had  not  lived  at  the  West  all  these  years  in  vain. 

Next  morning  Mrs.  Prouder  called  alone,  while 
Anne  was  away  at  the  store  as  usual.  The  visitor 
stayed  long,  and  as  the  little  maid-of- all- work  in 
dignantly  reported,  "  she  jest  hung  over  them 
childern  like  the'  wuz  hern ! "  She  was  still  there 
when  Anne  returned  and  they  made  their  simple 


316  ZURY. 

noon  meal  all  together.  Then  Mrs.  Prouder 
spoke. 

"  Ye  know,  Mis  McVey,  we  're  pootty  lonesome 
to  our  'us ;  got  tew  much  of  mos'  everythin'  but 
childern.  Naow  h'yer,  I  reckon  its  jest  t'  other 
way  with  yew,  though  ye  dew  look  so  luxur'ous." 

"  Oh,  we  have  enough  of  all  we  need,  and  none 
too  many  children."  She  looked  fondly  at  her 
cherubs. 

"Wai,  naow,  Zury  'n'  me  we.'llaowed  's  haow 
mebbe  ye  'd  be  willin'  t'  spare  th'  boy." 

The  mischief  was  out.  It  seemed  to  Anne  as 
if  they  spoke  of  Phil  as  one  of  a  litter. 

"MY  PHILIP!"  She  almost  screamed  her 
reply,  and  seizing  the  youth  with  a  force  and  vigor 
which  called  forth  vociferous  protest,  she  glared 
over  his  red  curls  at  the  enemy,  like  a  lioness  at 
bay,  guarding  her  cubs. 

"  Oh,  wal,  of  course  ef  ye  don't  like  the  idee, 
when  ye  come  t'  think  on  it  —  I  jist  mentioned  it 
to  Zury  last  night,  'n'  he  seemed  t'  kinder  fall  in 
with  it."  And  soon  afterward  she  took  leave, 
vainly  endeavoring  to  make  the  parting  affec 
tionate. 

In  the  afternoon  Prouder  called,  and  begged  for 
a  little  talk  "on  business."  She  received  him, 
but  there  was  danger  in  her  eye. 

"  Did  you  bring  your  wife  here  to  steal  my 
child?  Did  you  lay  out  that  fine  plan,  so  that 
she  would  think  it  was  her  own  idea,  when  you 
had  plotted  it  all  beforehand  ?  " 

"  One  thing  at  a  time !     Is  it  stealing  a  boy  for 


A  NOVELTY  IN  WEDDING   TRIPS.       317 

Zury  Prouder  t'  adopt  him  'n'  make  him  his 
heir?" 

"  Yes  it  is  !  Money  could  not  pay  me  for  part 
ing  with  him,  and  money  could  not  pay  him  for 
parting  with  me!  Do  you  think  I  want  him  to 
be  the  meanest  man  in  Spring  County  ?  Or  that 
my  son  would  want  to  be  ?  No,  not  if  he  owned 
the  county !  " 

Zury  was  deeply  offended.  Never  in  his  life 
had  he  received  such  an  awful  blow  between  the 
eyes.  His  face  burned  as  if  it  had  been  lashed 
with  a  rawhide  held  in  a  woman's  hand  —  and 
that  hand  Anne  Sparrow's!  He  walked  off  in 
grim  silence. 

"Dooz  she  think  she  kin  bully  Zury  Praouder? 
Thet  he's  in  her  paower  'n'  can't  say  a  word? 
Thet  he  never  done  a  hand's  turn  for  her,  V  her 
triflin'  husban'  'n'  her  red-headed  brats.  We'll 
see  !  we  '11  see  !  Meanest  man  in  Spring  Caounty, 
eh  ?  Throws  that  at  me,  's  though  I  had  n't  said 
it  more  times  than  anybody  else  !  Me-eatiest  ma-an 
in  Spring  Caounty  ! " 

He  repeated  it  many  times,  but  it  seemed  to 
have  lost  its  old  soul-satisfying  ring.  His  steps 
were  directed  at  once  to  the  wholesale  house,  with 
an  intent  most  perilous  to  the  future  prosperity  of 
the  McVey  household.  There  he  found  nobody 
save  some  underlings,  the  partners  having  gone 
home.  So  he  was  forced  to  suspend  his  vengeance 
till  morning. 

He  told  his  wife  of  the  result  of  his  mission. 
She  said,  — 


318  ZURY. 

"  Wai,  poor  creetur,  I  don't  wonder  !  What  'd 
buy  one  on  'em  ef  the'  wuz  mine?" 

In  the  evening  Zury  walked  out,  and  quietly 
bent  his  steps  toward  the  McVey  cottage  —  for 
what  purpose  he  did  not  know  ;  perhaps  to  nurse 
his  wrath  and  keep  it  warm.  He  leaned  on  the 
little  picket  fence,  nicely  whitewashed.  Thought 
he,  — 

"  That  doggoned  ornery  trifling  McVey  never 
whitewashed  that  fence,  ner  that  house ;  ner 
planted  them  posey-beds  'longside  the  walk ;  ner 
handworked  them  curtings  the  lamp  shines 
through  so  peart ;  ner  thrummed  that  foot-mat 
that  lays  in  front  o'  the  door ;  ner  fixed  up  that 
low  swing  that  hangs  clust  t'  the  laylock  bush  ! " 

But  then,  neither  had  McVey  insulted  him. 
He  would  n't  have  dared,  even  if  Zury  had  given 
him  cause ! 

Next  morning  he  walked  with  dogged  steps  to 
the  store,  and  sought  out  the  proprietors. 

"  Haow  dooz  McVey  do  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  he  don't  'mount  t'  shucks  !  Hain't  got 
no  grip  —  no  git  up  V  git,  tew  him !  " 

"  'Baout  's  leave  ship  him  's  not  naow,  would  n't 
ye?" 

"  Why  's  fur  's  he 's  consarned,  'tain't  noth'n' 
but  your  recommend  that  's  kep'  him  on  's  long 
as  we  hev  kep'  him.  But  his  wife  —  that 's  another 
story.  She  's  a  gray  hoss  of  another  color." 

"Wai,  what  of  her?  " 

"  She 's  wuth  her  money  every  day.  Right  up  V 
a-comin' !  Wuth  a  hull  bilin'  o'  his  kind  o'  stock." 


A  NOVELTY  IN   WEDDING  TRIPS.       819 

"Wha'  'dye  pay  'em?" 

"Fifty  a  month." 

"  That  ain't  no  pay  fer  'em  !' ' 

"  Plenty  fer  Johnny." 

"  But  ye  seem  t'  have  him  ' n'  her  both  —  more 
o'  her  ner  o'  him." 

"  Wai,  it 's  all  they  've  asked." 

"  Cal'ltite  t'  keep  'em  on  don't  ye  ?  " 

"  Wai,  that 's  owin'  t'  haow  the  cat  jumps." 

"  I  wuz  a-goin'  t'  say,  ye  've  done  fair  by  me ; 
'n'  's  long  's  ye  sell  's  low  's  anybody  else  will  — 
er  lower  —  I  'm  willin'  t'  give  ye  fust  chance  at  my 
trade." 

"  Oh  well,  we  don't  cal'late  t'  bounce  Johnny 
yet  a  while." 

"  Haow  'bout  sixty  a  month  fer  Johnny  ?  " 

"  We  '11  hev  a  talk  with  Mrs.  McVey  in  the 
mornin'." 

"But  not  ef  the  ten  dollars  a  month  's  a-goin' 
t'  be  tacked  onter  ray  bills !  " 

"  Trust  yew  fer  that !  It  would  n't  work  on  a 
close  buyer  such  's  yew  be,  not  fer  a  half  an  hour, 
before  it  'd  be  knocked  galley-west !  " 

"  Well,  I  try  t'  hold  my  own.  Ye  know  I  'm 
the"  — 

He  did  n't  finish  the  sentence,  for  some  reason  or 
other.  But  his  vengeance  had  all  "  petered  out." 

It  was  with  a  pale  face,  round  eyes,  expanded 
nostrils,  and  tightly  drawn  lips  that  Anne,  in  the 
morning,  learned  that  both  of  the  partners  wished 
to  have  a  little  talk  with  her  on  business.  Could 
such  meanness  live  as  would  lead  Zury  to  strike  a 


320  ZURY. 

blow  at  her  and  her  babies  ?  The  ringing  in  her 
ears  was  growing  perilously  loud  —  she  must  sit 
down  and  bear  whatever  might  befall. 

Then  when  the  interview  was  over,  the  dizzy 
ringing  was  cured  ;  only  tears,  happy  tears,  re 
mained  to  be  struggled  with.  Ten  dollars  more  a 
month  !  One  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  more  a 
year!  Affluence!  Meanwhile  the  Prouders  were 
well  on  their  way  toward  Wayback. 

But  Zury  called  no  more  at  the  cottage.  The 
sting  remained,  though  no  vengeance  was  taken  — 
perhaps  all  the  more  for  that  reason.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  had  one  more  sweet  morsel  to  roll 
under  his  tongue  when  he  felt  blue,  as  even  he 
often  did  now.  He  had  forgiven  her  something ! 
He  had  rendered  her  good  for  evil ! 

John  Endicott  McVey  has  begun  to  slip  out 
of  this  story.  It  takes  a  muscular  grasp  to  hold 
his  still  handsome  head  above  the  waters  of  ob 
livion.  Lacking  the  solid  qualities  which  thrive 
upon  hardship,  he  weakened  under  training.  He 
kept  his  drawl,  but  lost  his  good  English.  He 
looked  shabby,  though  spending  more  on  his 
clothes  than  men  about  him  who  looked  well.  He 
might  have  earned  a  partnership  —  but  not  by 
being  the  last  to  come  to  the  store  and  the  first  to 
hurry  away. 

For  a  year  or  two  or  three  he  kept  up  a  fair 
show  of  service ;  then  his  laziness  allowed  the  ac 
counts  to  get  into  arrears,  and  he  used  to  bring 
home  the  books  for  Anne  to  work  at,  write 
them  up  and  take  off  trial  balances.  It  was 


A  NOVELTY  IN   WEDDING   TRIPS.       321 

mere  child's  play  to  her,  and  she  fell  into  doing 
more  and  more  of  it,  at  home  and  at  the  ware 
house. 

Anne  was  patient  and  tolerant  with  her  hus 
band  ;  but  when  she  found  that  he  was  surrepti 
tiously  chewing  tobacco  she  u  drew  the  line."  It 
was  the  last  straw ;  and  happened  to  show  which 
way  the  wind  blew  too.  Was  her  son  to  grow  up 
such  a  man  ?  What  right  had  John  McVey  to  be 
a  disadvantage  to  her  children  ? 

John  would  go  off  "  down  river "  for  days  to 
gether,  and  come  home  with  the  ague,  ruined 
clothes,  and  forty  cents'  worth  of  fish,  of  which 
he  was  quite  proud,  although  the  biggest  had 
always  got  away.  He  bought  a  patent  right, 
spending  a  whole  month's  wages  in  the  purchase 
and  a  whole  month's  time  in  hunting  for  "  capi- 
tle  "  to  get  up  the  necessary  machinery.  In  this 
pursuit  he  had  visited  Zury  Prouder  on  his  farm. 

"  Did  you  see  Mr.  Prouder,  John  ?  " 

"Yes.     I  saw  him." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  did  n't  seem  to  grasp  the  subject  at 
all.  Said  it  looked  to  him  like  the  Dutchman's 
grist-mill  —  a  first-rate  grist-mill  —  O.  K.  and 
A  1  in  every  particular,  —  was  n't  a  better  grist 
mill  in  the  whole  state,  —  only  it  would  n't 
work." 

"  Nothing  else  ?  " 

"  Well,  .he  called  it  a  *  perpettial  motion,'  and  — 
well,  he  did  n't  grasp  the  subject  at  all." 

"  How  did  Mrs.  Prouder  look  ?  " 


322  ZURY. 

"As  if  she  weighed  from  a  quarter  to  half  a 
ton." 

"  Did  Mr.  Prouder  —  ask  any  questions  ?  " 
"  Yes.  He  inquired  if  the  patent  had  ever  been 
tried.  I  told  him  no,  and  that  he  couldn't  tell 
whether  it  would  be  profitable  or  not  until  he 
tried  it.  He  said  he  could  n't  try  it  until  he  could 
tell  whether  it  would  be  profitable  or  not.  And 
so  I  gave  him  up,  and  came  away." 

John's  report  of  Zury's  remarks  was  imperfect, 
to  say  the  least.  More  fully  rendered,  they  would 
read  thus  :  — 

"  Sonny,  if  ye  kin  git  enough  perpettial  motion 
inter  yer  legs  t'  take  ye  back  to  Springville,  'n' 
then  sufficient  perpettial  motion  aouter  yer  head 
t'  let  ye  keep  yer  eye  tight  open  on  yer  work  in 
th'  store,  ye  may  possibly  accumle-ate  enough 
capitle  t'  keep  yer  fam'ly  till  next  blackberry 
harvest  —  if  ye  have  luck." 

John  continued :  — 

"  He  gave  me  a  letter  to  a  party  who  resides 
down  river  a  piece,  who  owes  him  a  horse ;  and  he 
told  me  that  if  that  party  would  give  me  the  horse, 
I  might  have  it  and  give  Zury  my  note  for  a  hun 
dred  dollars  and  pay  it  out  of  my  wages  at  the 
store." 

"  Of  course  you  declined." 

"  Well  —  not  yet.  There 's  a  party  going  to 
start  for  California  next  week,  and  if  I  had  that 
horse  I  could  get  to  go  along." 


A  NOVELTY  IN   WEDDING   TRIPS.       323 

Anne  started  —  almost  a  guilty  start  —  at  the 
thought  that  filled  her  heart  and  brought  a  flush 
to  her  face. 

"  How  would  that  strike  you  ?  "  he  added. 

"  Of  course  —  if  you  thought  it  would  be  ad 
vantageous  "  — 

"  Well,  everybody  seems  to  be  going." 

So  John  went  to  California.  Anne  made  the 
greatest  efforts  to  provide  her  husband  with  his 
outfit.  Few  travelers  started  so  well  supplied 
with  clothing  and  all  the  comforts  a  woman's  hand 
can  prepare.  She  dispatched  him  on  his  long, 
blind  journey  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  made 
her  reproach  herself  as  a  heartless  woman.  But 
then,  was  he  not  a  drag  and  an  increasing  dis 
advantage  to  her  children?  A  positive  peril  to 
their  future.  And  was  not  this  a  justification  for 
anything  —  any  hardening  of  her  heart  ? 

John  got  the  horse  and  the  passage  to  the  new 
El  Dorado.  Prouder  got  his  note  for  a  hundred 
dollars,  and  later  got  the  money  with  interest. 
California  got  John,  and  John  got  —  the  cholera. 
Nobody  mourned  for  him  except  little  Margaret  — 
the  gentlest  soul  that  ever  put  on  childish  form  — 
who  wept  to  see  that  nobody  else  did.  Years 
passed,  during  which  even  she  grew  out  of  all 
memory  of  poor  "  gentlemanly  Johnny." 

Anne's  health  and  her  children's  being  excel 
lent,  she  had  no  trouble  in  maintaining  the  family 
in  comfort.  Clothes  cost  little,  food  less,  and 
education  (public  school)  nothing.  Phil  had  a 
genius  for  mathematics  and  was  what  is  called  a 


824  ZURY. 

"  natural  mechanic."  Margaret  had  a  genius  for 
faithful  work  at  whatever  her  hand  found  to  do. 

Before  Phil  was  ten  years  old  he  knew  by  heart 
all  the  mills  within  reach:  the  old  breast-wheel 
grist-mill  and  the  new  overshot  grist-mill,  and  the 
undershot  saw-mill  with  its  mechanical  expedients, 
so  few  and  simple,  yet  so  ingenious  and  effectual. 
Then,  when  a  railroad  was  built  to  Springville 
(which  was  before  one  came  to  Chicago),  what 
rapturous  delight  encircled  like  a  halo  the  first 
locomotive !  He  was  the  very  earliest  apprentice 
in  the  machine-shop,  and  days  of  labor  between 
nights  of  study  were  his  regular  experience  for 
years  together. 

During  all  Anne's  Springville  life  and  service 
for  Polander  Brothers,  Zury  was  a  frequent  visitor 
at  the  warehouse,  but  never  at  the  cottage  after 
his  disastrous  castigation  at  her  hands.  At  just 
about  regular  intervals  he  found  it  convenient  to 
visit  his  merchants,  and  he  always  spent  some  time 
leaning  on  the  railing  that  barred  her  from  the  out 
side  world,  and  talking  with  her  about  the  children 
and  about  Wayback  matters.  His  unassuming, 
persistent  cordiality  won  upon  her.  She  grew  to 
expect  him,  to  rely  on  his  cheery  voice  and  strong 
nature  as  a  part  of  her  life.  She  flushed  with 
pleasure  when  he  came  ;  she  greeted  him  with  her 
well-remembered  smile  ;  she  pressed  his  hand  with 
her  soft,  inky  fingers  at  meeting  and  parting  ;  and 
if  he  stayed  away  longer  than  usual  she  wondered 
at  it  and  let  him  know,  next  time  she  saw  him, 
that  she  had  done  so. 


A  NOVELTY  IN   WEDDING   TRIPS.       325 

So  constant  and  so  deeply  crafty  is  mother-love! 
Have  you  never  seen  a  mother-bird  try  by  simple 
strategy  to  protect  her  nestlings  ?  I  have.  She 
spreads  one  wing  and  drags  it  on  the  ground  as  if 
she  were  wounded  and  almost  ready  to  be  caught; 
and  only  when  she  has  tolled  you  far  away  from 
their  hiding-place  does  she  mount  gayly  to  a  tree- 
top  and  wait  until  you  have  given  up  your  sup 
posed  inimical  designs. 

This  summing  up  has  taken  us  some  years 
ahead  of  our  story.  Let  us  go  back  for  an  in 
cident  that  occurred  when  the  twins  were  enter 
ing  their  teens. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

ZURY  FOR   THE   LEGISLATURE. 

44  HAOWDY,  haowdy   Mis   Sparrer — McVey  I 

should  say." 

44  Good  morning,  Mr.  Prouder.  Glad  to  see 
you  !  How  is  your  wife  ?  " 

"Middlin',  middlin',  I  thankee.  Yer  babes 
peart  ?  " 

"Yes,  they  're  well  —  not  exactly  babes  any 
longer." 

44  No,  I  expect  not.  Time  flies.  Ain't  it  amaz- 
in'  haow  it  buzzes  ?  Th'  days  use  'ter  tarry  like 
a  meetin'-haouse  clock ;  naow  they  spin  'raound 
like  a  buzz-saw." 

44  That 's  very  fine  !  Mr.  Prouder,  you  were  cut 
out  for  an  orator." 

44  Oh,  naow  let  up  on  me,  V  quit  yer  foolin' !  " 
said  Zury,  though  he  was  pleased,  and  showed  it. 
44  But  by  th'  way,  some  fellers  that 's  got  some  kind 
of  a  grutch  agin  me,  I  expect, —  tho'  I  dunno  's 
I  ever  harmed  'em  nuther  —  dunno  's  I  did  V 
dunno  as  I  did,  —  they've  pitched  on  me  t'  run 
fer  the  legislatur'." 

44  Capital !     You  '11  make  a  good  legislator !  " 

"  Bless  yer  simple  soul !  Make  one  ?  Not  ef 
they  know  it!  They  look  t'  be  beat  in  the 


ZURY  FOR   THE  LEGISLATURE.  327 

race,  and  that 's  why  the'  pitch  on  me  !  Th'  dees- 
trick  's  agin'  aour  side ;  'n'  besides,  this  h'yer  free 
bankin'  question  '11  kill  us.  Th'  fellers  on  th' 
other  side  is  all  fer  it,  'n'  of  course  we  're  agin 
it." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  Want  to  get  you  killed  off  to 
make  room  for  somebody  else." 

"  Eggzackly  !  An'  pay  fer  the  rope  t'  hang  me, 
tew!  Reg'lar  turkey  shoot,  'n'  me  th'  turkey, 
tied  t'  a  stick  at  th'  lonesome  end  o'  th'  shootin'- 
range." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  Wai,  I  hain't  said  aye,  yes  ner  no  tew  it  yit." 
Then  sinking  his  voice  slightly,  so  as  to  make  his 
words  indistinguishable  (though  not  inaudible)  to 
the  people  about  in  the  warehouse,  "  Ef  I  hed 
your  brains,  and  my  body,  tew,  I  'd  turn  the  ta 
bles  on  them  smart  Alecks  !  " 

"  My  brains  ?  Have  them  knocked  out  instead 
of  yours?" 

"  Nary  time  !  Use  'em  !  I  'd  make  them  fel 
lers  see  stars !  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Carry  the  deestrick  in  spite  of  'em  !  Farm 
ers  ain't  no  fools.  They  '11  listen  tew  reason." 

"  They  'd  never  listen  to  me !  "  she  said,  with  a 
sigh.  "  I  've  tried  them  once,  with  all  the  brains 
and  all  the  arts  I  had  —  and  they  drove  me  away ! " 
The  tears  filled  her  eyes  at  the  recollection  of 
her  mortifications. 

"  What !  Them  fellers  that  was  intew  the 
burnin'  ?  Nary  a  one  on  'em  left  abaout  th'  dig- 


328  ZURY. 

gin's !  Don't  ye  charge  Wayback  Deestrick  with 
that  thai*  jawb !  Why  they  jest  could  n't  stay 
'raound  !  The  place  got  tew  hot  fer  'em  —  hot 
ter  'n  ever  that  dry  tree  got  th't  your  money  was 
hid  intew!  The'  ain't  no  trace  left  on  'em,  no 
more  'n  the'  wuz  o'  them  bank-bills." 

"  Well.  I  'ra  glad  they  are  gone.  But  it 
was  n't  they  alone.  All  the  people,  women  and 
men,  gave  me  the  cold  shoulder ;  all  except  my 
dear  scholars !  " 

"  Thar  it  is  agin !  Yer  scholars  naow  is  jest 
a-gittin'  along — up  'n'  a-comin' —  rulin'  th' hull 
neighborhood,  on  yer  own  lines." 

"  Indeed?  Well,  I  hope  they  won't  follow  in 
all  my  ways."  Then  hastily :  "  But  it  makes  no 
difference  —  I  am  not  you  and  you  are  not  I." 

"  No !  Wuss  luck !  Ef  I  wuz,  I  'd  knock 
things  galley-west !  I  'd  rare  right  up  on  my  hind 
legs  'n'  paw  the  air!  I'd  range  through  that 
neck  o'  woods  head  'n'  tail  up,  like  a  blaze-faced 
bull  in  th'  corn  !  " 

"  Now,"  said  she,  purposely  raising  her  voice, 
"  tell  me  about  the  Way  backers  —  all  of  them." 

"  Oh,  they  're  all  O.  K.  Don't  ye  want  t'  ride 
over  'n'  ^e  'em  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  it  of  all  things,  of  course.  We 
always  want  what  we  can't  get." 

"  Can't  git  t'  go  t'  Wayback  ?  Why  not,  I  'd 
like  t'  know  ?  My  team  's  pootty  stout,  'n'  I  kin 
spare  'em  an  extra  ear  o'  corn  apiece  t'  make  up 
fer  your  weight  in  th'  wagin." 

"  Oh,  the   team  's  all  right  —  and  the  wagon, 


ZURY  FOR   THE  LEGISLATURE.  329 

and  the  driver.  But  the  passenger  can't  go  all 
the  same." 

"Why  not?"  he  persisted. 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  my  daily  toil  for  daily 
bread." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  fix  that  all  right !  "  And  he  strode 
away  to  speak  to  the  storekeeper,  unheeding 
Anne's  urgent  and  repeated  calls  to  refrain  from 
doing  so.  In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  with  one 
of  her  employers,  only  too  anxious  to  comply 
with  the  request  of  their  powerful  customer. 

"  Now  why  did  you  take  all  that  useless  trouble, 
Mr.  Prouder  ?  Because  I  cannot  go,  and  that  is 
the  end  of  the  matter." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well —  I  have  my  children  to  care  for." 

"  Fetch  'em  along !  Hog  V  hominy  's  plenty 
yet  onter  the  Praouder  farm." 

Anne  only  shook  her  head  and  turning  her 
back  on  him,  resumed  her  book-keeping.  Pretty 
soon  the  headstrong,  petty  tyrant,  unused  to  fail 
ure,  came  back  and  renewed  the  attack. 

"  What  else  ye'  got  on  yer  mind,  besides  yer 
business  V  yer  childern  ?  " 

44  Myself." 

"Yerself?" 

"  Yes.  You  take  precious  good  care  of  your 
self  :  I  take  pretty  good  care  of  myself.  Not  al 
ways,  but  generally." 

This  seemed  to  puzzle  him,  and  he  went  off  to 
think  it  over.  In  the  coarse  and  unconventional, 
though  moral  atmosphere  wherein  he  had  been 


330  ZURY. 

brought  up,  such  feminine  exclusiveness  had  never 
come  under  his  notice  (except  in  Anne),  and  he 
did  not  yet  quite  recognize  it  when  he  saw  it.  In 
his  bewilderment  he  sought  counsel  from  one  of 
the  storekeepers. 

"  Oh,  yes  —  you  bet  she  takes  care  of  herself ! 
She  ain't  no  slouch!  Many's  the  feller  't  would 
a  liked  t'  took  th'  ha-ansome  widder  aout  sleigh- 
ridin'  or  buggy-ridin',  but  no  sirree !  Nary  a  one 
on  'em !  Not  even  him."  (Indicating  his  junior 
partner.) 

"Wai,  I  should  think  not!"  said  Zury,  with 
jealous  though  illogical  heat. 

He  rnused  long  and  silently.  After  an  hour  or 
so  he  once  more  approached  the  subject,  but  in  a 
roundabout  way. 

"  Mis  Praouder  she  'llaowed  t'  come  t'  Spring- 
ville  with  me,  shortly." 

"  Did  she?     Well,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  her." 

"  Would  her  bein'  along  make  any  difference 
abaout  yer  a-goin'  home  with  us  ?  " 

"  Being  along  ?     No." 

"  I  did  n't  know  but  what  —  on  her  invite  "  — 

"  Well,  I  '11  wait  till  she  asks  me,  at  any  rate." 

Anne  thought  it  extremely  improbable  that  Mrs. 
Prouder  would  ever  join  Zury  in  asking  her  to 
Wayback.  "  I  'm  sure  I  should  n't,  in  her  place," 
she  said  to  herself. 

But  she  reckoned  without  her  hostess.  In  a 
week  the  large,  fat,  homely  face  of  that  dull  per 
son  appeared  at  the  store,  as  fully  bent  on  having 
Anne  make  her  a  visit  as  Zury  himself  was,  allow- 


ZURY  FOR   THE  LEGISLATURE.  331 

ing  a  "  personal  equation  "  for  the  difference  in 
their  two  most  dissimilar  natures.  Anne  accepted 
the  invitation,  for  herself  and  her  children  ;  but 
later  her  heart  misgave  her  regarding  the  little 
ones.  Margaret  was  all  right,  but  she  looked 
sharply  at  Phil,  as  with  a  stranger's  eyes,  and 
decided  not  to  present  him  to  the  Wayback  pub 
lic.  He  was  better  in  the  machine-shop.  (He 
had  never  seen  Zury  since  he  could  remember.) 

As  to  Margaret's  going,  she  would  leave  that 
to  Margaret.  Now  that  devoted  young  person 
took  the  idea  that  she  might  be  useful  to  her 
mother  and  the  world  by  doing  some  of  her  moth 
er's  work  at  the  warehouse.  She  could  practice 
what  book-keeping  she  already  knew  and  learn  the 
rest ;  and  mamma,  when  she  returned,  would  find 
but  little  accumulated  work  awaiting  her.  Phil, 
with  his  mathematical  mind,  could  help  her  in  the 
evenings.  But  —  the  plan  must  be  kept  a  dead 
secret,  for  if  her  mother  found  it  out  she  would 
insist  on  Meg's  going. 

"  Well,  mother,  the  girls  are  just  going  into 
algebra ;  unless  you  really  need  me  very  much,  I 
think  I  '11  just,  naturally,  stay  at  home." 

Her  mother  regarded  her  suspiciously.  She 
was  much  disposed  to  imagine  some  nefarious 
scheme  of  self-sacrifice  on  the  part  of  that  artful 
creature  Meg.  For  wily  craftiness  in  that  line, 
she  certainly  was  "  the  beater."  At  any  rate,  per 
fidy  prevailed  this  time.  Anne  fell  into  the  trap 
and  left  Meg  at  home  ;  and  oh,  the  inky  fingers 
and  corrugated  brows  that  adorned  the  dear  young 
toiler  during  the  ensuing  fortnight ! 


332  ZURY. 

The  simpler  first  steps,  such  as  she  had  already 
learned  under  her  mother's  tuition,  she  went 
through  trippingly  every  afternoon.  Then,  the 
more  occult  classifications  and  postings,  she 
achieved  at  home  in  the  evenings,  with  Phil's 
guidance  and  assistance. 

One  evening,  after  hours  of  application,  ending 
with  the  unraveling  of  a  tangle  —  one  of  those 
compensations  that  make  book-keeping  so  fasci 
nating  —  Meg  said,  — 

"  Oh,  Phil !  Suppose  we  could  manage  a  trial- 
balance  at  the  end  of  the  month  !  " 

"  Meg,  you'll  come  down  with  a  brain -fever, 
first  you  know.  That  would  be  a  trial  without  any 
balance." 

"Stuff!  your  face  is  redder  than  mine,  this 
minute." 

"  No  stuff  about  it !  Your  forehead  is  hot ;  and 
that  indicates  brain-fever."  (Kissing  her.) 

"  But  your  nose  is  cold,  and  that  indicates  a 
healthy  dog.  We  will  get  off  a  trial-balance ! 
Mother  always  had  hers  ready  on  the  first  of  every 
month ;  we  can  surely  make  it  by  the  second. 
Then  we  can  send  it  to  her  by  mail." 

"  And  pay  twenty-four  cents  postage?  Then 
she  '11  knoiv  we  both  have  brain-fever,  or  something 
dreadful ! " 

"  Well,  we  '11  see  about  surprising  her  with  it. 
Better  not  cross  that  bridge  till  we  get  to  it." 

Meanwhile  Anne  sped  finely  with  her  "outing." 
The  journey  over  was  pleasant.  They  took  along 
a  basket  of  luncheon  prepared  by  Anne's  careful 


ZURY  FOR   THE  LEGISLATURE.  333 

hands,  and  stopped  to  bait  the  team  and  refresh 
themselves  in  a  charming  shady  nook  on  the  banks 
of  a  prairie  creek. 

Zury  talked  politics  from  time  to  time,  and 
showed  plainly  in  his  quiet,  shrewd  remarks,  that 
he  really  cherished  some  "  views  "  outside  of  party 
fealty. 

"  Them  fellers  that  thinks  the  world  would  be 
twice't  as  rich  if  th'  wuz  twice't  as  much  money ; 
the'  always  remind  me  of  the  calf  that  would  n't 
eat  his  pail  o'  milk  onlest  the'  wuz  a  pail  o'  water 
put  with  it.  Money  !  The'  dunno  what  the'  're 
a-talkin'  abaout !  The  truck  they  'd  like  t'  flood 
the  kedntry  with  would  n't  be  no  money,  no  more 
'n  nothin'  in  the  world  !  " 

"  Now,  Mr.  Prouder,  all  you  need  is  to  say  those 
same  things  on  the  stump,  to  be  the  best  public 
speaker  I  ever  heard." 

"  Oh,  the'  would  n't  amaount  t'  nothin'  ;  not  th' 
way  I  put  'em.  My  speech  'd  last  abaout  six 
minutes  by  th'  watch.  The'  folks  'd  be  all  a  sayin,' 
*  What  be  we  h'yer  fer?  Come  all  this  way  'n'  not 
got  more  'n  half  unhitched  afore  its  time  t'  hitch 
up  agin  ;  cause  the  speaker's  feed-bag  's  run  aout ! 
Zury  better  hire  somebody  t'  dew  his  talkin'  if  he  's 
so  short-winded  ! '  Ye  see  the'  come  a  long  way, 
most  on  'em  ;  give  up  a  half-a-day's  corn-plaowin' 
tew ;  'n'  the'  want  not  less  'n'  an  haour  'n'  a  half 
afore  the'  feel  t'  got  ther  money  back.  But  then 
what  the'  r'aly  like  is  t'  have  two  fellers  git  t'getlier 
'n'  discuss  :  fuss  feller  an  haour,  seck'n  feller  an 
haour  'n'  a  half,  'n'  then  the  fuss  feller  a  half  an 


334  ZURY. 

haour  t'  reply  !  That  suits  'em  up  t'  th'  handle  ! 
What  with  two  er  three  exti'y,  cross,  back-firm's, 
'n'  a  few  volunteer  speeches  from  aoutsiders,  'n'  a 
vote  o'  thanks  t'  tb'  jint  c'mitty  tb't  gits  up  the 
hull  thing,  a  long  summer  afternoon  gits  knocked 
endways  'n'  the  fellers  go  hum  feelin'  the'  Ve  bed 
a  free  show  'n'  noth'n'  shorter !  Why  tbe'r  minds 
runs  on  what  wuz  said  that  day  clear  on  t'  'lection 
—  mebbe  longer  ;  mebbe  long  's  the'  live  !  " 

"It  looks  as  though  they  cared  more  for  quan 
tity  than  quality.  Now  I  'd  like  better  to  hear 
the  first  man  to  say  black  's  white,  and  the  second 
man  to  say  white  's  black,  and  then  run  home  and 
'tend  my  children."  (Anne  gave  a  little  sigh  as 
she  named  her  deserted  treasures.)  "  And  then  I 
should  think  it  all  over  and  conclude  that  black 
and  white  both  were  — about  gray  after  all !  " 

"  Ha-ha !  That  's  pootty  near  the  upshot  on 
it,  by  'n'  large.  But  that  kind  o'  fodder  'd  never 
do  in  the  world  fer  that  kind  o'  cattle.  Don't  ye 
know  what  happens  ef  ye  feed  a  mule  all  corn  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  never  was  a  mule  since  I  can 
remember."  i 

"  Ye  allers  wuz  a  hull  team,  'n'  a  boss  t'  spare ! 
But  not  a  mule  —  mebbe  a  little  bit  muley  some 
times.  Naow  the  fact  is,  a  mule,  er  a  boss  either, 
ef  he  's  got  all  the  corn  he  wants,  'n'  noth'n'  else; 
why  he  '11  eat  up  his  beddin',  V  his  gears,  'n'  his 
mate's  mane  'n'  tail,  'n'  his  feed-box,  'n'  th'  hull 
stable,  'n'  the  groun'  he  stan's  on,  but  what  he  '11 
git  suth'n'  intew  him  t'  die-lute  his  cor^i  'n'  fill  up 
his  innards." 


ZURY  FOR   THE  LEGISLATURE.  335 

u  Poor  beast !  " 

"  Poor  beast !  Ye  'd  think  so  ef  ye  heerd  him 
holler  'n'  beg  when  he 's  hay -hungry  like  that." 

44  I  'd  put  green  spectacles  on  him  and  give  him 
shavings." 

"He'd  eat  'em  fast  enough!  'N'  the  specta 
cles  tew,  soon  's  he  could  wipe  'em  off  with  his 
hind  huffs  !  Wai,  folks  is  the  same  way.  If  ye 
feed  'em  tew  rich  they  can't  die-gest  it  'thaout 
mixin'  in  a  heap  o'  fillin'-up-stuff.  Lucky  fer  the 
preachers,  ain't  it !  Great  Scott !  If  the'  didn't 
give  Christians  some  pootty  pore  spiritual  food 
the'r  fahm'lies  'd  have  pootty  pore  pickin's  in 
temp'rals ! " 

44  Naow  Zury  !  " 

44  Oh,  I  ain't  sayin'  a  word  agin  the  preachers, 
wife.  They  give  what  the'  've  got,  'n'  what  's 
wanted,  tew.  Same  's  I  dew  t'  my  mules." 

44  Lucky  for  us  women,  too,  Mr.  Prouder.  Sup 
pose  nobody  would  listen  to  us  except  when  we 
had  something  to  say  !  " 

44  Wai  —  yes  —  in  a  way." 

44  Come  to  th^nk,  when  we  are  tired  of  sensible 
talk  we  're  very  like  the  mules  —  we  turn  to  our 
gears,  quite  naturally." 

44  Good  agin  !  Gears  !  To  be  sure  !  Gnaw  'n' 
nibble  at  yer  mates  some,  tew,  I  guess ! " 

"Naow  Zury!" 

44  Oh,  I  ain't  a-sayin'  nuth'n'  agin  the  women, 
nuther.  Salt  o'  th'  yearth.  'Thaout  them  we 
men  'd  ali  be  gomorrahed  in  fire  'n'  brimstun  — 
er  desarve  t'  be.  But  the'  dew  furnish  plenty  o' 


336  ZURY. 

talk.  Shavin's  V  sawdust  enough  t'  average 
daown  a  good  deal  o'  hard  sense.  The'  're  so 
built  by  th'  A 11  wise,  in  His  inscrutable  ways  'n' 
past  findin'  aout,  th't  the'  've  got  ter  talk  er  go 
crazy.  Put  a  woman  in  a  lonesone  spot  'n'  she  '11 
jes'  barely  save  her  life  by  a-talkin'  to  herself,  a 
steady  stream.  Many 's  the  time  I  've  come  up 
quiet  tew  a  aout-lyin'  farm-house,  'n'  thought  th' 
wuz  a  taown-meetin'  er  suth'n'  a-goin'  on  inside ; 
'n'  come  ter  fin'  aout  't  warn't  noth'n'  but  th'  ole 
woman  a-discoursin'  tew  herself !  " 

"Naow  Zury  !" 

"  Fact,  wife  !  Plaow  else  'd  the  peddlers  live  ? 
Ef  it  warn't  fer  the  lonesome  houses  they  'd  starve 
t'  death.  Think  the  peddlers  dew  the  talkin'  ? 
No  sirree !  All  they  hev  t'  dew  is  t'  listen  say 
half  an  haour,  'n'  then  make  as  ef  they  wuz  a-goin', 
'n'  the  woman  '11  buy,  er  sell,  er  trade  suthin'  t' 
keep  'em  on  a  while  longer.  It's  talk  'n'  sell 
some  mantel  ornaments;  'n'  talk  'n'  buy  some 
goose-featehrs  ;  'n'  talk  'n'  sell  a  paper  o'  pins  ;  'n' 
talk  'n'  trade  some  tin  pans  fer  a  jar  o'  honey  — 
ontel  it's  time  t'  blow  the  dinner-horn." 

When  the  wagon  was  again  on  the  road  and 
jogging  merrily  along,  Zury  cautiously  and  awk 
wardly  got  back  to  the  deep  thoughts  he  had  evi 
dently  been  harboring  for  weeks. 

"  Speakin'  o'  women,  'n'  mule-feed,  'n'  one  thing 
another;  me  'n'  Flory  h'yer  's  be'n  a-talkin'  abaout 
this  speech-makin'  job."  And  he  looked  anx 
iously  at  Flora  for  confirmation. 

"  Ya-as.     I  was  a-tellin'  Zury 's  haow  't  would  n' 


ZURY  FOR   THE  LEGISLATURE.  337 

be  no  trick  at  all  fer  yew  t'  work  up  a  good  dis 
course  —  with  yer  book-larnin'  V  all ;  V  so  "  — 
She  paused  as  in  a  quagmire. 

"Long  V  short  of  it  is  —  I  know  what  to  say, 
but  dunno  haow  to  say  it.  Yew  tell  me  haow  t' 
say  what  I  Ve  got  in  my  head,  V  —  I  '11  be  in  the 
legislatur  next  winter."  And  he  turned  to  his 
horses  and  began,  in  his  embarrassment,  to  whis 
tle  a  succession  of  tuneless  notes,  as  if  he  had  com 
pleted  his  task  and  had  no  further  interest  in  it. 

"I  to  write  a  speech  and  Mr.  Prouder  to  com 
mit  it  to  memory  ?  I  couldn't  write  it ;  he  could 
n't  learn  it ;  and  it  would  be  a  dead  failure  if  we 
could."  Zury  seemed  not  to  hear  and  kept  on 
whistling.  "  His  own  plain  talk  is  the  best  speech 
that  could  be  made  on  the  matters  ;  and  if  people 
don't  like  it,  that's  their  own  foolishness."  More 
whistling.  "  I  can  fancy  his  thoughts  and  images 
used  by  some  practiced  speakers  I  've  heard,  and 
being  very  effective." 

Then,  finding  that  she  was  drifting  rather  in 
his  direction,  she  held  her  peace.  Zury  got  tired 
of  whistling  (as  even  the  very  worst  of  whistlers 
will  in  time),  and  a  thoughtful  silence  fell  upon 
the  trio.  Then  Zury  began  talking  politics  again. 

"  This  h'yer  nigger  question  's  li'ble  t'  come  up, 
tew.  We  're  jest  on  the  divide  h'yer,  betwixt  th' 
northern  and  southern  viws.  Th'  hottest  talkers 
on  one  side  is  fer  lettin'  slavery  spread ;  V  on  th' 
other  side  fer  'bolishin'  on  it  altogether ;  'n'  the 
the  coolest  hands  is  fer  keepin'  on  it  where  it  is 
a'ready.  I  don't  hardly  know  what  t'  say.  Jule 


338  ZURY. 

he  's  a  likely  nigger ;  but  yet  he  ain't  no  more  fit 
fer  an  American  citizen  'n'  a  voter,  th'n  a  ring- 
tailed  'possum  with  one  eye.  Ye  '11  hear  fellers 
that 's  ben  daown  South  'llaow  't  th'  niggers  is  the 
happiest  critters  on  top  o'  God's  green  'arth ;  'n' 
the  wust  luck  't  kin  happen  tew  'em  Avould  be  t' 
be  sot  free.  Wai,  then,  that  settles  it  —  all  we 
got  t'  dew  is  t'  'bolish  the  fugitive  slave  law ;  let 
'em  come  up  'n'  larn  the  fax  ;  'n'  then  keep  the 
bars  daown  fer  'em  t'  git  back  t'  all  the  blessin's 
o'  civilization  'n'  sugar-plantin',  jest  as  quick  's 
Goddlemity  '11  let  'em.  Wun't  they  hurry  South  ! 
Wun't  they  come  a-runnin'  back  t'  the'r  masters ! 
Oh,  yes  —  yew  bet!  " 

"  Slavery  !  Does  anybody  defend  negro  slavery? 
Every  man  who  owns  a  slave  is  a  robber!  I  don't 
see  how  any  man  or  woman  can  sleep  or  wake 
in  peace  who  traffics  in  human  bodies  and  souls  ! 
Ugh  !  If  I  were  a  slave  I  know  my  master  would 
n't  enjoy  life  very  much  or  very  long  !  " 

"No,"  said  he,  looking  back  at  her,  "you  'd 
never  make  a  very  comf  table  chattle !  But  s'posin' 
y'  owned  a  lot  on  'em,  haow  then  ?  " 

"  Why  I  'd  set  them  free,  of  course  !  I  thought 
everybody  knew  that  that  is  the  proper  thing  to 
do!" 

"  Wai,  thet  's  Massy chu setts  all  over  !  Yew 
step  daown  South  'n'  ye  may  happen  t'  find  some 
perfessin'  Christians  —  ministers  o'  th'  gospel  'n' 
others — th't  ain't  quite  perpared  t'  agree  with  ye. 
In  fact,  ye  need  n't  go  so  fur,  'n'  ye  need  n't  go 
Saouth  nuther.  Ye  've  seen  'em,  'n'  shook  han's 


ZURY  FOR  THE  LEGISLATURE.  339 

with  'em  tew.  That  thar  brother  Stokes,  Pre- 
sidin'  Elder  o'  the  feet-washin'  Baptists  —  he's  a 
bright  V  a  shinin'  light  fer  the  Scripter  author 
ity  fer  slavery.  He  '11  preach  ye  a  sermon  from 
'  Cursed  be  Canaan,'  thet  '11  prove  it  t'  be  one  o' 
God's  holy  ordinances  ;  jest  's  clear  's  'riginal  sin, 
'lection,  V  predestination,  V  just'fication  by 
faith." 

"  Faugh  !  I  'd  like  to  give  brother  Stokes  a 
piece  of  my  mind." 

"  I  don't  doubt  bat  you  could  spare  enough  to 
double  his  'n'  never  miss  it."  After  driving  on 
in  silence  for  a  while  he  added,  — 

"  I  guess  them  slave-holders  better  sing  small  ef 
they  know  when  the'  're  well  off.  Ef  they  try  t' 
run  things  tew  much,  they  're  liable  t'  find  they  've 
bit  off  more  'n  they  kin  chaw.  But  then,  of  course, 
I  ain't  no  abolitionist.  I  don't  believe  in  mixin' 
up  blacks  and  whites  till  ye  can't  tell  'em  apart  — 
marryin'  t'gether  'n'  all  that  —  let  blacks  be  black 
'n'  whites  be  white ;  'n'  each  keep  t'  his  own  race, 
says  I." 

"  Mixing  up  ?  Who  talks  of  mixing  the  races  ? 
Not  the  Abolitionists,  so  far  as  I  know  !  And  who 
is  doing  it  without  talking  about  it  ?  The  slave 
holders  !  In  a  few  generations  there  won't  be  a 
full-blooded  negro  left  in  slavery  !  " 

"  Jesso,  jesso  !  Ye  've  hit  it  right,  sure  enough! 
Thet  thar  idee  is  am'nition  fer  me,  when  the 
question  comes  up  !  " 

The  drive  and  the  shadows  grew  long.  Some 
times  for  miles  the  road  led  through  open  prairie 


340  ZURY. 

—  wide  open  —  "out  of  sight  of  land"  as  the  ex 
pression  is,  describing  the  spaces  (then  plenty, 
now  rare),  where  naught  but  land  was  visible  in 
any  direction  ;  no  tree,  fence,  hill,  nor  house  to 
break  the  prairie  horizon  on  the  north,  south,  east, 
or  west.  At  this  present  writing,  almost  every 
farmer  has  a  plot  of  growing  black-walnut  or  some 
other  valuable  tree  ;  or  at  least  an  orchard.  Since 
the  prairie  fires  have  been  checked  by  the  circum 
scription  of  human  influences,  these  trees  do  very 
well  in  places  where,  as  late  as  u  the  forties,"  the 
undulating  surface  was  as  naked  as  the  heaving 
ocean,  or  the  blowy,  moving  desert  of  sand. 

In  one  of  these  stretches,  Zury  asked  Anne  for 
a  song,  and  once  more  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
"  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  in  her  best  treble.  Then 
she  gave  them  "  Araby's  Daughter,"  and  the 
"  Mistletoe  Bough,"  which  last  touched  their 
hearts  almost  to  the  melting  point  —  though  they 
•were  Western  pioneer  settlers.  After  these,  Anne 
asked  Mrs.  Prouder  to  sing ;  and  she,  nothing 
loath,  struck  up, — 

"  Hark,  from  the  tombs  a  doleful  saound ! 

Mine  ears  attend  the  cry. 
Ye  living  men,  come  view  the  graound, 
Where  ye  must  shortly  lie." 

Each  note  she  approached  from  several  tones 
below,  reaching  it  with  a  kind  of  gouging  curve 
of  sound,  typified  in  nature's  voice  by  the  festive 
bull-frog,  what  time  the  full  moon  rises  over  the 
lonely  marsh-lake. 

Then  fell  a  long  silence,  broken  only  by  an 


ZURY  FOR   THE  LEGISLATURE.  841 

occasional  creak  of  wagon  or  click  of  harness. 
Then  the  lights  of  Wayback,  then  a  stretch  of 
bottom-land  and  woods  familiar  to  Anne's  memory 
—  Anstey's  house  and  the  school-house  passed  in 
silence  —  then  home ;  tired,  hungry  and  very  ready 
for  supper  and  a  dreamless  sleep. 
\  As  they  said  good-night,  Zury  called  after 
Anne,  — 

"  By  the  by,  I 'm  a  waitin'  all  these  years  fer 
the  nub  of  that  thar  wall-paper  story !  " 

"  Goodness  !      What  a  dreadful    memory  you 
have  !     Well,  I  '11  write  it  out  for  you  some  time." 

"  Wai,  jest  please  reckleck  th't  some  time  don't 
mean  all  etarnity !  " 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

ELECTIONEERING. 

When  morning  showed  the  Prouder  homestead 
it  looked  so  utterly  unchanged  that  Anne  could 
not  realize  that  so  many  years  had  passed  since 
she  saw  it  last.  The  same  ugliness  grown  a  little 
uglier,  shabbiness  a  little  shabbier,  apple-trees  a 
good  deal  larger,  barns  a  good  deal  more  numer 
ous,  the  old  log  house  still  standing,  though  al 
most  audibly  begging  to  be  killed  and  buried  as 
they  say  aged  savages  do.  It  was  all  a  large 
busy,  prosperous,  childless,  pleasureless,  laughter- 
less  desert. 

Anne  met  with  as  much  of  an  ovation  as  can 
ever  be  extorted  from  the  undemonstrative  fron 
tier  folk.  Smiles,  kisses  (from  her  old  scholars), 
tears  even,  here  and  there  from  women  whom  she 
had  "  boarded  'round  "  with  or  otherwise  become 
better  known  to.  These  had  already  grown  to  be 
old  in  the  rapid  wear  and  tear  of  farm  work,  un 
wholesome  nourishment,  tooth-pulling,  and  medi 
cation.  Poor  old  Mrs.  Anstey  was  quite  a  wreck, 
but  as  faithful  to  her  nostrums  and  as  loving  to 
Anne  and  as  talkative  to  everybody  as  ever. 

"  Ya-as,  Reekie  she 's  mar'rd  V  gone,  'n' 
dewin'  splendid.  As  fer  me  I  can't  say  but  I 


'      ELECTIONEERING.  343 

ain't  no  better,  not  t'  say  better,  though  I  am  a 
tryin'  a  pain-killer,  V  a  sass'p'riller,  'n'  a  colly- 
gog.  Looks  's  though  some  on  'em  'd  oughter  help 
me.  Lucky  the  boys  ain't  had  noth'n'  much  the 
matter  on  'em  lately,  fer  ef  the'  hed  the'  'd  a  died 
sure,  'cause  hearin'  yew  talk  agin  physic  sot  'em 
agin  it  wonderfle.  I  'xpect  I  'd  give  'em  enough 
before  t'  keep  'em  well  so  fur,  but  I  look  t'  see 
'em  break  daown  any  minute  quick  's  th'  ole 
healin'  paower  gits  clean  wore  aout  by  time." 

"  Maybe  it  is  as  I  always  said —  better  health 
without  physic  than  with  it." 

"  Ah,  yah!  Looks  likely  don't  it?  Think  th' 
Lord  'd  'a'  sent  all  them  good  paowerfle  drugs  ef 
the'r  hed  n't  a-ben  no  use  fer  'em  ?  Doctors  tew  ! 
Think  they  go  t'  colleges  'n'  read  mons's  big  books 
(so  I  've  heerd  — -  big  's  a  half-bushel  measure)  'n' 
all  t'  larn  th't  the'  dunno  noth'n'  when  the'  git 
threw?" 

"  They  say  the  older  and  wiser  a  doctor  gets, 
the  less  physic  he  gives." 

"  Ah,  yah  !  Ef  one  on  'em  wuz  t'  come  h'yer 
'n'  not  perscribe  no  physic  fer  me,  I  'd  send  him 
a  spinnin'  daown  the  road.  Yes  I  would.  'N' 
mighty  quick  tew.  No  matter  ef  he  wuz  's  old  's 
Methusalem  'n'  's  wise  's  Solomon.  I  want  suth'n' 
I  kin  feel  right  threw  me,  minute  I  take  it." 

In  some  respects  the  region  had  grown  a  little. 
Many  of  Anne's  old  scholars  had  homes  of  their 
own,  and  kept  up  some  neighborhood  cordiality  of 
tea-parties,  picnics,  quilting-bees,  and  such  like 
mild  gayeties  which  had  been  almost  unknown  in 


344  ZURY. 

their  own  childhood.  Scarcely  a  day  passed  without 
an  invitation  to  Anne  and  her  hosts,  calling  them 
to  some  such  entertainment.  Her  visit  was  made 
the  occasion  of  an  outburst  of  dissipation  such  as 
Wayback  had  hitherto  never  witnessed.  Zury, 
too,  had  turned  over  a  new  leaf  —  went  everywhere 
with  his  wife  and  her  friend  ;  talked  with  every 
body  ;  laughed,  joked,  learned  to  listen  even  when 
he  differed,  to  argue  where  he  was  well-informed 
and  his  opponent  ignorant,  to  greet  civilly  when 
he  despised,  to  affect  interest  in  affairs  of  others, 
to  remember  one  day  what  his  interlocutor  had 
said  on  some  other  day,  to  give  promises  on  con 
ditions  which  could  never  become  realities,  to 
withhold  promises  where  the  conditions  were 
likely  to  come  to  pass,  — in  short  to  electioneer. 

Each  night,  when  they  got  back  to  the  home 
stead,  they  had  a  long  talk  on  "  the  situation  "  — 
though  that  expression  had  not  then  been  trans 
planted  to  the  vernacular.  Anne  found  herself 
insensibly,  and  not  unwillingly,  drawn  into  the 
task  Zury  had  laid  out  for  her  —  putting  his  ideas 
into  shape  for  use  "  on  the  stump." 

The  great  trouble  was,  to  dilute  them  suffi 
ciently  for  the  coarse  mental  digestions  of  his  pro 
spective  audiences.  No  orator  ever  sought  for 
brevity  more  earnestly  than  these  schemers  did  for 
diffuseness.  How  to  fill  the  necessary  hour  or 
two  of  a  country  afternoon  mass-meeting  was  the 
problem  to  be  solved. 

After  "  the  hands  "  had  gone  to  bed,  the  three 
—  Zury  and  his  two  faithful  auditors  —  would 
have  a  little  meeting  all  to  themselves. 


ELECTIONEERING.  345 

"  Now  Mr.  Prouder,  look  at  the  clock.  Just 
eight,  you  see.  Get  to  work,  convince  us  two 
women  that  black  is  white,  and  don't  let  us  hear 
you  dare  to  be  silent  for  the  next  thirty  minutes 
by  that  clock,  or  we  '11  go  home  and  vote  against 
you." 

Then  Zury  would  begin,  drawl  and  dawdle 
as  much  as  he  could  (repetitions  were  barred), 
and  tell  every  illustrative  story  as  diffusely  as  was 
possible  to  his  practical  mind,  and  then  after 
reaching  and  saying  by  rote  the  prepared  perora 
tion,  would  look  up  at  the  clock.  Alas !  Only 
twenty  minutes  after  eight ! 

Then  it  would  be  Anne's  turn  again.  With 
much  raillery  and  good-natured  ridicule,  she 
would  take  up  his  theme,  give  all  his  words,  to 
gether  with  as  many  more,  throw  in  personal  hits 
which  had  perhaps  been  suggested  by  the  day's 
conversations  outside,  and  by  the  time  she  had  dis 
patched  the  subject  nine  o'clock  and  bed-time  had 
come. 

Next  evening  Zury,  an  apt  scholar,  would  take 
the  laboring  oar  again,  and  before  many  lessons 
he  managed  to  fill  an  hour  very  comfortably. 

One  of  their  excursions  was  over  across  the 
river  to  the  neighboring  county  of  Posey  where  a 
meeting  of  the  other  party  was  to  be  held.  Zury 
did  not  tell  Anne  that  it  was  on  the  picnic  ground 
of  so  many  years  before,  and  she  was  somewhat 
disconcerted  to  find  herself  traveling  the  same  old 
road,  remembering  the  woods-fire  and  the  walk  of 
terror  to  the  coal-mine  on  the  river-bank.  Neither 


346  ZURY. 

of  them  alluded  to  it  in  any  manner,  and  Anne's 
embarrassment  passed  off  unnoticed. 

The  meeting  was  well  attended,  and  many  loud 
jokes  were  passed  upon  Zury,  regarding  his  pres 
ent  incursion  into  the  enemy's  camp.  Did  he  ex 
pect  to  steal  their  thunder?  Or  lose  his  own 
scalp? 

"  Neither  one  ner  t'  other,  my  friends.  Jes' 
thought  I'd  drop  over  —  my  wife  wanted  t'  hev 
a  ride  —  'n'  Mis  McVey  h'yer —  Didn't  know 
but  what  I  mought  larn  suth'n' :  mought  git  con- 
varted,  'n'  vote  agin  myself  come  'lection-day ! " 

The  pro-slavery,  pro-shinplaster  harangue  of 
brother  Stokes  displayed  a  folly,  an  ignorance,  a 
bigotry,  a  wrong-headedness,  that  set  Anne's  teeth 
on  edge,  and  made  her  want  to  arise  and  protest, 
then  and  there,  against  its  horrible  teachings. 
At  this  day  of  freedom,  of  sound  currency,  of  po 
litical  virtue,  at  least  in  professions,  one  of  the 
political  diatribes  of  184-  could  scarcely  be  be 
lieved  to  have  been  seriously  uttered. 

The  experience  was,  however,  a  very  valuable 
one  for  our  practicing  political  debaters.  At  home, 
that  night,  they  tore  the  unconscious  Elder  Stokes 
to  tatters  and  swept  the  ground  with  his  remains. 
So  voluble  was  Zury  in  his  scorn  and  indignation 
that  he  scarcely  needed  any  prompting,  and  nine 
o'clock  came  almost  before  they  began  to  be  at  a 
loss  for  ammunition  with  which  to  carry  on  their 
sham  battle. 

The  crucial  test  was  fast  approaching.  Zury's 
first  mass-meeting  was  set  for  a  Saturday  after- 


ELECTIONEERING.  347 

noon  —  the  last  of  Anne's  stay.  It  was  called  to 
meet  at  the  school-house,  with  the  modest  view  of 
not  appearing  to  expect  more  than  a  room  full  to 
be  present.  But,  by  a  strange  coincidence,  one  of 
Zury's  wagons,  loaded  with  good  apples,  happened 
to  break  down  just  in  front  of  the  adjoining 
cleared  field ;  and  there  it  was  when  the  crowd 
began  to  gather.  Lucky,  too ;  for  the  school- 
house  overflowed  before  a  third  of  the  hearers  ar 
rived,  and  then  what  more  appropriate  than  that 
the  orator  should  speak  from  his  own  wagon-bot 
tom  ? 

"  Kivered  with  apples  ?  So  't  is  !  But,  friends, 
if  it  stays  so  very  long,  after  you  Ve  come  h'yer 
by  my  invite  'n'  I  want  room  t'  stan'  up  'n'  talk  t' 
ye  in  —  why,  thet  's  yewr  lookaout  'n'  not  mine." 

Then  followed  a  good-natured  scramble,  a 
munching  of  fruit,  a  filling  of  pockets  and  a 
general  warming  up  of  the  cockles  of  the  heart. 
Folks  are  never  so  hearty  as  when  they  eat  to 
gether.  How  the  boys  did  distribute  those  ap 
ples  !  And  the  girls  !  They  estimated  their  store 
somewhat  in  the  same  light  that  "  society  girls  " 
do  their  cotillon  favors  after  a  ball,  and  every 
mother  carried  home  some  for  her  little  ones. 

On  the  way  over  Anne  had  been  coaching  Zury 
as  to  his  start,  knowing  that  once  fairly  under 
way  he  would  gather  force  and  do  well.  So  she 
had  devised  a  phrase  or  two  that  would  sound 
half-way  familiar  and  half-way  new  —  just  what 
sluggish  hearers  like  —  and  break  the  ice  for  his 
further  strokes. 


348  ZURY. 

"Friends  and  fellow -citizens!  When  in  the 
course  of  human  events  it  becomes  necessary  for 
one  man  to  offer  himself  to  his  fellow-men,  as  a 
candidate  asking  for  their  votes,  a  decent  respect 
for  the  opinions  of  mankind  requires  that  he 
should  give  them  such  reasons  for  granting  his  re 
quest  as  he  may  be  able  to  present,  be  those  rea 
sons  good  or  bad." 

This  sentence  was  so  well  turned,  so  formal,  so 
respectful,  so  far  from  the  free-and-easy  patroniz 
ing  kind  of  talk  the  hearers  had  expected,  that 
they  were  taken  with  a  pleased  surprise,  and  even 
at  that  early  stage,  gave  him  a  cheer  —  a  most 
effective  fillip  to  the  doubting  heart  of  this  tyro 
in  oratory.  The  phrases  were  shrewdly  adapted 
to  taking  the  simple  hearers  captive,  for  they  as 
sumed  a  gravit}7"  and  reasonable  discrimination  in 
the  audience.  No  more  fatal  mistake  could  Zury 
have  made  than  to  underestimate  his  public  and 
let  them  perceive  that  he  did  so. 

Later,  however,  he  fell  into  more  familiar  and 
jocular  strains  of  thought  and  speech.  Said  he, — 

"  These  h'yer  money-cooks,  they  dunno  whut 
they  're'  a-talkin'  abaout.  Money  !  They  dunno 
whut  the  word  means !  Banks  can't  print  paper 
and  make  it  inter  money  —  it 's  only  a  promise  t' 
pay  money,  arter  all,  V  sposen  y'  hev  a  pocket- 
full  on  it  V  th'  bank  can't  or  wun't  redeem  it,  — 
wun't  perform  its  promise,  —  whar  be  ye  ?  Farm 
er's  Bank  o'  Milksick  Centre,  Fever  Caounty 
prints  a  wagin-bed-full  o'  bills  V  calls  'em  money  ; 
yew  farmers  go  t'  th'  bank  —  Farmer's  Bank,  ye 


ELECTIONEERING.  349 

know  —  ye  go  t'  git  some  o'  th'  money  ;  th'  bank 
cashier  —  store-clo'se  'n'  stan'-up  collar,  straps  on 
his  pants  'n'  lard  on  his  har  —  sez  he,  4  Yes,  sut- 
t'nly.  Jes'  morgidge  yer  farm  'n'  ye  shell  hev 
yer  money.''  Yew  smart  Aleck  out  with  yer  mor 
gidge  —  hand  it  over  and  git  yer  money.  Cashier 
trades  yer  mortgidge  to  some  Eastern  shark  'er 
other  fer  real  money  (hard  chink)  t'  move  t'  Noo 
York  with.  Ye  're  orfle  rich  with  yer  money  till 
ye  come  t'  pay  the  shark  yer  morgidge  interest,  'n' 
find  he  wun't  take  Milksick  money  !  Oh,  yes  — 
he  '11  take  it  —  as  the  Missippi  woodyard  man 
told  the  steamboat  cap'n  he'd  take  some  o' th' 
same  kind  o'  stuff  in  pay  fer  wood  —  cord  fer 
cord ! 

"  Why,  I  tell  ye,  feller-citizens,  things  would 
sune  come  to  jes'  sich  a  pass  as  't  wuz  in  Michigan 
in  1838,  when  a  Massychusetts  caounterfeit  one 
dollar  bill  wuz  worth  more  than  a  ginuyne  Mich 
igan  ten  !  "  (Loud  applause  and  laughter.)  "  'N' 
s'posin'  ye  go  daown  to  t'  Milksick  Centre  with  a* 
boot-leg  full  o'  the  money  th't  come  fr'm  thar  — 
what  then  ?  The5  won't  take  it  fer  yer  hoss-bait ! 
Bank 's  closed.  Ye  can't  even  git  a  Fever  Caounty 
jury  t'  give  ye  judgment  agin  a  Fever  Caounty 
Bank  !  What  dew  ye  git  fer  yer  trouble  ?  The 
agur  !  Traded  off  a  good  morgidge  on  a  good  farm 
fer  a  fuss  class  fever  'n'  agur ! 

"No  sirree !  Them  bills  ain't  money  no  more 
'n  pig's  tail 's  my  elbow  !  Money  's  a  thing  that 
can't  be  manufactured  by  a  sharp  in  an  office  — 
its  suth'n'  th't 's  got  t'  be  dug  aouter  the  graoun' 


350  ZURY. 

V  then  traded  off  fer  suth'n  th't  's  growed  a-top 
o'graoun':  corn,  hawgs,  wool,  —  suth'n'  'r  other 
th't  takes  labor.  All  other  kinds  o'  money  's  jes'  a 
scheme  t'  git  aour  hard-arn't  prodooce  fer  nothV  ! 
Talk  abaout  the  kedntry  need'n'  more  sucklatin' 
medium  !  S'posin'  the'  hed  more,  say  tew  dollars 
fer  one,  haow  long  'd  that  dew  'em  ?  Any  place 
on  the  hill  '11  dew  t'  start  that  stone  a-rollin'  but 
no  place  '11  dew  t'  stop  it  when  its  started  except 
the  ditch  at  the  bottom  ! " 

Here  occurred  an  interruption  —  one  of  these 
occurrences  that  threaten  disaster  to  the  unready 
orator,  but  which  are  turned  by  the  ready  one  to 
double  account. 

"  Say,  Zury ;  when  I  as't  ye  last  week  t'  lend 
me  forty  dollars,  ye  'llaowed  money  wuz  tew  sca'ce 
jest  naow.  Mebbe  if  ye  'd  a  hed  yer  pocket  full 
o'  shinplasters  I  mought  a  hed  better  luck." 

"  Yew,  Joe  Felser !  Ye  're  mighty  right  abaout 
that !  Friends,  can't  ye  see  whut  Joe  Felser  wants 
m  lot  'more  bank-bills  printed  fer?  I  '11  tell  ye  ! 
He  wants  bank-bills  t'  be  so  plenty  th't  a  feller  'd 
druther  hev  Joe  Felser's  promissory  note  fer  forty 
dollars  th'n  t'  hev  forty  dollars  in  bank-bills  ! 
Wun't  bank  bills  hev  t'  be  pootty  plenty  V  pootty 
cheap  afore  we  see  thet  day  ?  Cheap  'n'  nasty  — 
cheap  'n'  nasty  '11  be  the  bank  bills  we  don't  vally 
higher  ner  whut  thet  comes  tew."  (This  rude 
personality  tickled  the  rustic  crowd  more  than  it 
deserved  by  virtue  of  its  wit.) 

"  The  minute  ye  go  t'  increasin'  paper  'n'  callin' 
it  money,  then  it  begins  t'  go  daown  hill :  prices 


ELECTIONEERING.  351 

goes  a  kitin',  'n'  pootty  sune  the  cry  is  fer  more 
paper  ;  coz  it  takes  more  at  high  prices  than  at  low 
prices  t'  dew  th'  same  work.  Thet  's  whut  's  called 
inflation.  Nex'  thing  is,  —  more  yet.  'N'  so  on, 
till  ye '11  hev  t'  tote  a  basket  t'  pack  yer  money 
t'  mill,  'n'  a  gourd '11  fetch  back  all  the  flour  it'll 
buy  !  "  (More  laughter.) 

"  Why,  friends,  ye  're  some  on  ye  farmer's  boys, 
'n'  the  rest  on  ye  hev  ben  —  'er  gals,  one  er  t'  other, 
fer  I  'dress  my  remarks  to  the  ladies  present  as 
well  as  the  rest.  Wai,  did  n't  ye  never  wean  a 
calf  by  hand?  I  did,  'n'  many  a  one.  Daown  in 
Pennsylvany,  whar  I  come  from,  we  could  n't 
afford  t'  let  caows  run  with  th'  calves.  I  useter 
go  aout  a  milkin'  early  o'  frost}'  mornin's,  afore 
sun-up,  'n'  scare  up  th'  caows  easy  like,  so  they 
would'n'  move  away  so  but  whut  I  could  milk, 
stickin'  my  cold  toes  down  in  the  warm  place 
they  'd  laid  in.  Then  I  'd  mix  s'm  meal  in  'n' 
feed  the  calves.  Six  quarts  o'  milk  fer  a  starter, 
is  a  square  meal  fer  a  calf.  Naow,  s'posen  some 
calf  is  such  a  dod-gasted  foul  of  a  calf  that  he 
turns  4  inflationist '  —  that  is  a  paper-money  calf. 
Fust  thing  ye  know  he  wants  six  quarts  o'  water 
with  his  six  quarts  o'  milk.  Down  goes  twelve 
quarts  o'  th'  inflated  milk.  Still  he  baa's  fer 
more,  so  yew  double  it  again  'n'  daown  goes  twenty- 
four  quarts  o'  skyblue  mixtur'.  Same  time  don't 
ye  see  he  don't  git  a  drop  more  milk  than  he  did 
at  the  start  ?  But  naow  the'  's  no  stoppin'  on  him, 
he  cries  again  for  more  currency  ;  'n'  pootty  sune 
he 's  got  t'  git  'raound  a  bar'l  full  o'  water  t'  dygest 


352  ZURY. 

his  six  quarts  o' milk  !  Whut's  the  upshot  ?  Why 
that  thar  calf  's  got  t'  BUST.  'N'  so  must  any 
calf  er  any  c'nmnity  th't  sets  abaout  die-lutin' 
good  milk  with  poor  water,  er  good  cash  with  poor 
paper."  l 

Laughter  loud  and  long  followed  this  homely 
illustration,  and  Zury  had  time  to  refresh  himself 
and  gather  new  strength  for  new  triumphs. 

Passing  over  his  talk  on  some  local  themes 
which  would  mean  nothing  to  us,  we  will  try  to 
give  an  idea  of  what  he  had  to  say  about  the 
"  Nigger  question."  He  had  associated  so  much 
with  Jule  in  the  early  days  that  he  could  give  a 
fairly  graphic  imitation  of  negro  dialect  and  pro 
nunciation,  the  latter  seeming  to  be  the  product 
of  soft  flabby  organs  too  large  to  be  comfortably 
managed  and  used  in  the  mouth  that  contains 
them. 

"Makes  me  laugh  t'  hear  brother  Stokes  blow 
abaout  the  niggers  bein'  a  heap  better  oft'  in  slavery 
th'n  what  they  would  be  ef  th'  wuz  free !  Re 
minds  me  of  a  talk  our  darkey  Jule  hed  with  one 
o'  them  'postles  preachiri'  the  gospil  o'  slavery  fer 
the  good  of  the  nigger.  H'yers  abaout  the  way 
the  talk  run  :  — 

"  '  Wha*  d'  ye  run  away  fer,  Jule  ?  Did  n'  ye 
have  a  kind  marster  ? ' 

"  4  Oh,  yes,  baus ;  ole  marse  wuz  kin'  'nuff,  I 
speck.' 

"  4  Did  n'  ye  hev  enough  t'  eat  ? ' 

1  This  illustration  is  adapted  from  a  stump  speech  of  Repre 
sentative  Horr,  of  Michigan. 


ELECTIONEERING.  353 

"  '  Oh,  yes,  bans ;  s'peck  we  'uns  bed  all  't  wuz 
goo'  fer  us.' 

"  4  Medicine  when  ye  wuz  sick  ? ' 

" '  Oh,  yes,  bans  ;  plantation  docter  oilers  raoun' 
when  we  wuz  off  de  wuhk.' 

"  4  Clo's  all  furnished  free  ?  ' 

"  4  Yah-yah  !  Din'  take  much  clo'se  in  de  cott'n 
fieF  in  de  sunshine  ! ' 

"  '  Liberty-day  now  V  then  ? ' 

"  *  Oh,  yes,  baus ;  when  da  wahu't  nuffin'  t'  do, 
din'  do  nuffin'.' 

" '  Then  whut  V  th'  nation  'd  ye  run  away  fer? 
All  them  blessin's  is  a  heap  sight  more  'n  most  of 
us  fellers  gits  up  h'yar.' 

" 4  Yah-yah-yah  !  Tell  ye  w'ut  't  is  baus,  ef  de 
place  suits  ye,  1  guess  it's  open  yit !  I  '11  gib  ye 
de  d'rection  ;  ye  kin  pile  right  daown  dar ! ' : 

This  was  another  story  that  "  went  to  the  spot " 
with  those  workers  in  glorious  freedom,  Western 
pioneers  whose  muscles  were  driven  to  the  verge 
of  desperation,  but  whose  minds  were  free  from 
any  suggestion  of  control.  The  sea  of  faces  before 
Zury  was  now  illumined  all  over  by  the  welcome 
whitecaps  of  broad  grins. 

"  Dew  I  hear  anybody  askin'  me,  4  Zury,  be 
yew  an  abolitionist?  Would  ye  like  yer  darter 
t'  marry  a  nigger? '  Ef  I  don't  hear  this  old  cir 
cus  conundrum,  it 's  jest  coz  the'  ain't  no  Posey 
Caounty  politicians  in  hearin' !  Over  t'  Posey, 
th'  other  day,  whar  I  wuz,  ye  could  n'  throw  a 
stone  'thaout  hittin'  half-a-dozen  fellers  askin'  jest 
that  rebus  offen  somebody.  My  answer 's  oilers 


354  ZURY. 

ready  to  sech  questions.  I  say  I  want  every  race 
t'  keep  t'  itself  'n'  work  aout  its  own  salvation 
best  way  it  kin.  Tbet  's  why  I  don't  want  no 
extension  of  the  blessin's  o'  slavery  intew  Illenoy. 
Talk  of  'malgymation  !  Whar  dooz  it  flourish  ? 
'Mongst  th'  abolitionists,  er  'mongst  the  slave 
holders  ?  I  hain't  heerd  o'  Jule's  'malgymatin'  t' 
no  gre't  'xtent  sence  I  fetched  him  up  h'yer,  goin' 
on  twenty  years  ago  !  'N'  ef  he  hed,  I  guess  I  'd 
a  ben  likely  t'  a-hearn  tell  on  it !  Same  time, 
daown  whar  he  come  fr'm,  marsters  'n'  slaves  is 
pootty  near  all  of  a  color  a' ready,  'n'  git-tin'  more 
so  right  along  !  Why,  th'  State  o'  Kentucky  's 
plum  full  o'  bleached  darkey  babies,  so  white  ye 
can't  tell  t'  other  fr'm  which  !  " 

More  laughter  greeted  this  sally,  and  when  it 
had  died  away  Zury  proceeded  to  the  combination 
of  his  various  branches  of  talk  into  one  edifice. 

"  Naow,  friends,  I  've  paid  my  respecks  to  the 
various  loonatics  the'  is  a  doin'  business  in  the 
p'liticle  market ;  'n'  I  want  t'  see  you  'n'  me  'n' 
all  aour  kind  ockepy  a  stan'  whar  we  kin  look 
daown  on  th'  hull  caboodle  on  'em.  H'yer  's  th' 
way  it  is  —  the  Demycrats  kin  beat  th'  Whigs, 
'n'  th'  Free-bankers  kin  beat  th'  Demycrats,  'n' 
th'  Whigs  kin  beat  th'  Free-bankers.  This  oilers 
reminds  me  of  our  ol'  hen-haouse  tew  hum. 

"  Ye  see  th'  black  hen  she  c'd  whip  th'  white 
hen  ;  'n'  th'  white,  she  c'd  whip  th'  ol'  speckled 
hen  ;  'n'  th'  ol'  speckle,  she  c'd  whip  th'  black. 
Wai,  ye  know  it 's  th'  natur  o'  hens  t'  want  ter 
roost  near  th'  ol'  rewster.  (I  'm  naow  speakin' 


ELECTIONEERING.  355 

only  of  two-legged  hens.)  So  when  th'  oF  rewster 
he  'd  fly  up  on  tew  th'  perch,  come  sundaown, 
mebbe  th'  black  she  'd  up  V  set  daown  next  him, 
V  stay  thar  ontel  th'  speckle  upped  V  drove 
her  daown  flippity-flop.  Thet  wuz  all  right  ontel 
th'  white  she  M  go  fer  th'  speckle  V  aoust  her, 
hoss,  foot,  V  dragoons,  'n'  set  in  th'  seat  of  honor 
herself,  ready  t1  be  druv  off  a  whoopin'  'n'  a 
squawkin'  by  th'  black.  'N'  so  the'  'd  keep  it 
up  f'm  sundaown  clean  on  to  dark  night;  ontel 
th'  ole  rewster  he  'd  git  tired  of  it,  'n'  rare  right 
up  on  his  hin'  legs  'n'  put  a  stop  tew  it  —  knock 
'em  all  off  f'm  th'  perch  —  pick  aout  fer  his 
neighbor  a  pullet  th't  warn't  neither  th'  white 
ner  th'  black  ner  th'  speckle,  give  her  the  ch'ice 
location,  'n'  reach  over  her  with  a  smart  clip  at 
th'  fust  one  that  tried  t'  raise  a  disturbance. 
Naow  s'posen  we  call  th'  white  th'  Whigs,  'n'  th' 
black  th'  Demycrats,  'n'  the  speckle  th'  Free-bank 
ers  —  who 's  th'  oV  rewster  ?  Yew  be,  my  friends  ; 
the  thoughtful  voters,  the  free  'n'  independent 
fanners  of  th'  State  'n'  th'  Nation !  Yew  '11  stop 
ther  squawkin'  'n'  ther  squabblin'  jes'  's  sune  's  ye 
git  a  good  ready.  Wanter  know  when  that'll  be? 
Next  'Lection  Day  !  Then  ye  '11  whoop  'em  up ! 
Daown  the'  go  —  Black,  White,  'n'  Speckle,  'n' 
ther  master  —  th'  people  —  will  have  peace  at 
last ! " 

After  the  roar  which  greeted  this  had  subsided 
Zury  returned  to  the  more  dignified,  measured, 
respectful  strain,  and  finally  he  gave  the  prepared 
peroration  in  a  high,  serious  tone,  without  gesture 


356  ZURY. 

or  smile,  gazing  far  away  above  the  heads  of  his 
hearers,  who  listened  in  breathless  silence.  He 
only  brought  his  look  down  to  their  eager  faces 
as  he  gave  them  thanks  for  their  attention  and 
bade  them  farewell. 

The  speaker  seemed  dazed  by  the  storm  of 
cheers  that  followed.  He  sat  on  the  wagon-board, 
with  his  eyes  closed,  his  head  on  his'  hand  and 
bowed  upon  his  breast.  Then  the  enthusiasts  in 
sisted  and  persisted  until  they  could  get  hold  of 
his  hands ;  some  on  one  side  and  some  on  the 
other,  and  shake  them  to  a  degree  that  finally 
broke  his  re  very  into  a  cheerful  laugh. 

"  Heavens  'n'  arth,  Zury !  Where  ye  be'n  a 
hidin'  yer  light  all  these  years !  Why  ain't  ye 
Guv'nor  of  Illinoy  ?  " 

"  Yes;  er  President  of  the  United  States?" 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  noth'n'  but  a  poor  ign'r'nt  farmer, 
pards.  It 's  th'  fax  thet  's  strong  —  't  ain't  me,  ner 
th'  way  I  putt  'em."  Then  his  eyes  sought  for 
Anne  as  the  true  source  of  his  success  ;  but  she  had 
prudently  withdrawn  somewhat —  in  fact,  her  own 
feelings  were  somewhat  excited  and  overwrought 
by  hearing  her  words  used  in  public,  and  the  public 
so  moved  by  them.  She  had  exacted  a  promise 
from  Mrs.  Prouder  that  no  sign  or  hint  should  get 
abroad  that  she  had  even  known  what  Prouder 
was  going  to  say.  Zury  did  not  need  to  be  urged 
in  this  direction,  but  it  would  have  been  just  like 
his  simple  wife  to  tell  the  whole  story. 

They  drove  homeward  through  the  cooling  airs 
of  evening,  and  as  they  passed  the  gay  groups 


ELECTIONEERING.  357 

they  were  greeted  from  all  sides.  "  We  've  got 
'em,  Zury!"  "  Hurrah  fer  th'  Wayback  candi 
date!"  "That  calf's  busted  a'ready,  Zury!" 
"  We  '11  knock  them  ol'  squawkers  all  offen  th' 
perch  come  'lection." 

Beside  the  two  women  he  brought  over,  Zury 
carried  back  as  many  of  the  folks  going  his  way 
as  his  wagon  would  hold,  so  there  was  no  chance 
for  any  exchange  of  private  views  ;  and  in  the 
evening,  when  Zury  hoped  to  have  it  all  over  in  a 
long  talk  with  Anne,  she  was  conveniently  tired 
and  went  to  her  room  almost  immediately  after 
supper.  She  had  an  instinctive  repugnance  to 
thanks  and  explanations.  When  the  next  even 
ing  arrived,  she  had  no  longer  any  practicable 
excuse  for  not  having  the  customary  sitting-room 
conference,  but  then  time  had  calmed  the  too 
effusive  feelings  that  followed  the  stunning  success 
of  the  meeting,  and  all  was  plain  sailing. 

"  Wai,  Mis  McVey,  Zury  'n'  me  we  've  be'n 
a  thin  kin'  whut  on  th'  yarth  we  kin  dew  t'  pay  ye 
up  fer  th'  help  ye 've  be'n  tew  him." 

"  Help,  Mrs.  Prouder  ?  Pay  ?  Why,  that 's  all 
nonsense !  When  I  want  anything  you  '11  know 
it,  I  assure  you.  Till  then  I  hope  you  won't 
think  of  any  such  foolishness." 

"  Wai,  ye  know  I  ain't  no  scholard,  ner  much 
of  a  c'rackter  anyhaow  ;  but  Zury,  he  'llaows  the 
speech  wuz  yourn,  'n'  not  his'n,  'n'  it 's  yew  't  'd 
oughter  go  t'  th'  legislator'  ef  anybody  I " 

"  I  'm  not  a  candidate,  I  thank  you  !  The  speech 
was  his  speech,  and  his  alone.  It's  just  as  sen- 


358  ZURY. 

sible  to  call  it  mine  as  it  would  be  to  say  that  a 
man  built  a  house  when  he  only  whitewashed  it." 

"  Whitewash  !"  cried  Zury.  "Whitewash? 
Why,  I  did  n'  dew  no  more  'n  dig  th'  cellar  V 
lay  th'  faoundation  !  Yew  built  th'  haouse  'n' 
furnished  it !  'N'  it 's  me  th't  's  goin'  t'  live  intew 
it  —  ef  I  git  votes  enough.  So  yew 'n' me  ain't 
square,  not  by  no  means." 

"Well,  if  I  have  done  any  good,  I've  just 
done  it  to  the  country  in  the  only  "way  a  woman 
can  do  it  —  or  ought  to  wish  to  do  it,  according  to 
my  present  way  of  thinking — by  influencing  a 
man's  election  or  his  actions  after  he 's  elected. 
Nobody  can  ever  pay  me  for  that  any  more  than 
a  man  can  pay  you  for  your  actions  in  the  legis 
lature  —  after  you  get  there,  as  I  hope  you  will." 

"  Looks  pootty  like  it,  by  what  I  've  heerd 
talked  'raound  to-day.  Big  meetin'  aout  t'  Dan- 
field  nex'  We'nsd'y,  V  'nother  some'rs  else  the 
Sat'd'y  arter." 

"  Heavens  and  earth.!  Have  you  to  get  up  all 
those  speeches  ?  " 

"  All  those  speeches !  Bless  yer  simple  soul, 
d'  ye  s'pose  the'  want  any  diff  rent  speech  f'm 
what  I  give  'em  t'  th'  scule-haouse  ?  Not  a  bit  on 
it !  The'  would  n't  hev  no  other,  not  at  no  price ! 
S'posen  I  hed  another,  jest  's  good  'n'  better;  the' 
would  'n'  never  stan'  it  !  The'  'd  be  a  hollerin'  'n' 
yellin'  all  over  th'  place,  '  Give  us  the  busted  calf, 
Zury  !  Oh,  Zury  !  Haow  'baout  them  three 
hens !  Tell  us  'baout  them  nigger  babies,  Zury 
—  can't  let  ye  often  th'  nigger  babies  ! ' ' 


ELECTIONEERING.  359 

"  Why,  will  there  be  a  fresh  lot  of  people  to 
relish  the  old  stories  they  've  heard  about  ?  " 

"  Partly  a  fresh  lot  —  mainly  th'  same  old  fel 
lers,  though.  But  the'  're  like  th'  chil'n  'n'  the'r 
mothers :  the  babes  oilers  wants  t'  hear  th'  same 
old  stories,  told  in  th'  same  ol'  words.  So  does  th' 
common  run  o'  folks.  Yew  notice  what  jokes  takes 
best  in  a  craowd.  Th'  ones  the'  laugh  at  most 
is  th'  ones  the'  've  be'n  most  useter  laughin'  at." 

So  by  cleverly  turning  the  subject  Anne  had 
escaped  the  matter  of  thanks  and  "  pay,"  as  poor, 
awkward  Mrs.  Prouder  rudely  phrased  it.  Zury's 
ambitious  soul  was  easily  floated  away  from  shal 
lows  of  the  past  on  the  waves  of  the  imaginary 
future. 

But  in  at  least  one  house  the  subject  was  more 
fully  treated.  It  disturbed  the  privacy  of  the  An- 
stey  connubial  chamber. 

"  Anstey  —  oh,  Anstey —  be  ye  asleep  ?  " 

"  Jest  a  sugarin'  off.     What 's  up  ?  " 

"Why,  don't  ye  know  what's  th'  matter  with 
Zury  Praouder  ?  " 

44  Zury  ?  Why,  he  's  jest  struck  his  gait.  Fust 
chance  he  's  hed  t'  show  what 's  in  him.  /seen  it 
all  along.  Could  n't  tell  me  noth'n'  abaout  Zury 
Praouder  I  Ain't  noth'n'  Zury  can't  dew  !  'N' 
oilers  could.  'N'  I  knowd  it  all  fer  this  last 
coon's  age !  " 

"  Oh,  yew  sho  !  Ye  ol'  fool  !  Ye  're  oilers  a 
knowin'  lots,  fer  a  coon's  age,  arter  it 's  all  come 
aout,  specially  ef  it  ain't  so,  arter  all." 

44  Ain't  so?  Zury  not  a  hull  team  'n'  a  hoss  t' 
spare  'n'  a  "  — 


360  ZURY. 

"  Zury  here,  V  Zury  there  ;  what 's  that  got  t' 
dew  with  his  speech  ?  " 

"  Why,  I'm  a  tellin'  ye,  he  's  jest  th'  man  t' 
make  jest  sech  a  speech,  'n'  I  oilers  knowd  it,  'n' 
so  on." 

"  Yes,  'n'  I  'm  a  tellin'  yew  ye  're  an  ol'  fool,  'n' 
blinder  'n  a  bat,  besides.  Zury's  speech  !  Pickled 
eel's  toes  !  Anne  Sparrer  McVey's  speech  is  what 
I  'llaow !  " 

"  Sho  t'  man  !     D'  ye  b'lieve  it  ?  " 

"  B'lieve  it  ?  Don't  hev  t'  b'lieve  it,  I  know 
it !  Tell  me  !  Yah,  yah  !  I  wondered  whut  wuz 
up  when  she  come  daown  h'yer  'n'  went  t'  drivin' 
abaout  with  them  Praouders,  lookin'  all  over  th' 
lay  o'  th'  land  'n'  not  a-sayin'  nothin',  all  's  in 
nocent  's  a  pig  in  a  garding." 

"  Wai,  he-he !  OF  woman  !  Yew  hev  got  a 
head  outer  ye.  It's  nex'  thing  t'  Zury's  own 
head  'n'  I  know  it.  Knowd  it  fer  a  coon's  age  ! 
Dunno  but  ye  're  right,  dimno  but  ye  be. 
Never  'd  a  thought  it,  though.  Never  mistrusted 
a  blame  thing." 

"  Mistrusted  nothin'  !  'Course  ye  did  n't,  ner 
none  o'  th'  rest  o'  th'  folks.  The'  'd  never  notice 
ner  mistrust  nothV,  not  ef  the'  wuz  t'  meet  a 
wagin-load  o'  brass  monkeys  with  the'r  tails  burnt 
off.  I  keep  my  eyes  open,  thet's  all;  'n'  /  tell 
yew  them  idees  'n'  them  words  wuz  all  Anne 
Sparrer  McVey's  idees  'n'  words.  Zury  Praouder 
couldn't  never  hatch  aout  no  sech  a  brood  's  thet, 
smart's  he  thinks  himself,  'n'  many  's  th'  farms  as 
he 's  got,  'n'  morgidges  on  other  folkses  farms." 


ELECTIONEERING.  361 

"  Wai,  is  he  t'  ride  inter  th'  legislatur  on  her 
wagin  ?  Haow  on  th'  yarth  kin  you  'n'  me  let 
folks  know  who  actially  made  the  speech,  fixed 
th'  way  we  be,  in  regard  o'  Zury,  V  th'  mor- 
gidge  behind  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  hain't  on  call  t'  interfere.  I  speck 
she  wants  him  t'  git  in ;  so  ef  we  wuz  t'  upset  his 
'tater-cart,  we  'd  be  a  runnin'  agin  her  ;  'n'  we 
ain't  on  runnin'  agin  her,  I  reckon." 

44  No  sirree  !  Ef  she  says  so,  it 's  all  th'  more 
reason  t'  putt  him  in.  'N'  we  kin  dew  it,  tew. 
But  he  'd  oughter  pay  her  well  fer  rnakin'  up  thet 
speech  fer  him,  ef  so  be  she  did  make  it  up." 

"  Ef  she  did  ?  Don't  I  tell  ye  the'  ain't  no 
mistake  abaout  it  ?  But  yer  mighty  right  abaout 
him  'd  oughter  payin'  her  well  fer  it." 

"  'D  oughter  give  her  a  good  five  dollars  fer  it, 
say  I." 

"  Yes,  ye  better  believe  it.  Five  dollars  in  gold, 
tew!" 

And  with  this  munificent  vision  of  golden  guer 
don  for  their  beloved  Anne,  the  old  couple  sank 
into  rosy  slumber. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HOME   AGAIN.  —  ZURY    DEFEATED,   THOUGH 
VICTORIOUS. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Prouder,  I  have  bad  a  delightful 
visit,  and  I  must  be  thinking  of  getting  home  to 
my  children  and  my  work." 

"Wai,  ye 're  welcome  t'  stay  jest  's  long  's 
ye  're  a  min'ter." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  You  've  been  kindness  itself. 
But  all  things  come  to  an  end,  and  so  must  my 
visit.  When  can  you  spare  time  for  a  drive  to 
Springville?" 

"  Wai,  I  warn't  cal'latin'  t'  go  t'  Springville 
agin  right  away  naow.  Zury  he  'llaowed  t'  take 
ye  over  any  day  ye  like." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Prouder.  I  see  —  yes,  of  course," 
Anne  answered  rather  hesitatingly.  "  But  I  was 
hoping  for  the  pleasure  of  your  company." 

"  Wai,  I  'd  like  t'  obleege  ye,  but  I  don't  hardly 
see  haow  I  kin  git  away  agin  right  off.  Zury 
he  's  got  ter  be  in  Danfield  come  We'nsd'y,  V 
we  'llaowed  it  might  suit  ye  t'  make  it  so  's  he  c'd 
take  yew  on  t'  Springville  th'  same  trip,  ef  that 
'd  suit  ye,  d'reckly  arter  th'  meetin'." 

This  would  n't  suit  Anne  at  all.  But  how  to 
make  that  great  dull  creature  understand  that 


DEFEATED,   THOUGH    VICTORIOUS.  363 

under  no  circumstances  would  she  travel  for  a  day 
or  more  alone  with  Zury  Prouder,  including  at 
tendance  at  the  Danfield  meeting?  And  how  to 
get  home  in  any  other  way  ?  Here  was  a  di 
lemma  she  had  never  contemplated:  a  puzzling  — 
almost  distressing  predicament.  Her  still  smooth 
forehead  took  on  an  unaccustomed  cloud,  and  her 
old  teeth-tapping  trick  evidenced  her  puzzled 
condition. 

Why  was  the  Prouders'  plan  out  of  the  ques 
tion  ?  She  would  enjoy  the  repetition  of  her  ex 
perience  at  the  Wayback  meeting.  There  was 
an  intoxicating  delight  in  hearing  her  best  words 
uttered  in  Zury's  strong  voice  and  masterful  man 
ner;  in  observing  the  listening  crowd  hang  in 
rapt  silence  on  their  utterance,  and  then  burst 
into  laughter  and  wild  applause  at  every  oppor 
tunity.  It  was  a  perfect  and  unaccustomed  treat 
that  made  her  heart  beat  fast,  her  breath  come 
full  and  quick,  her  cheeks  glow,  and  her  eyes 
shine  with  the  new  joy  of  oratory  (albeit  second 
hand),  and  with  sympathy  in  the  delight  of  Zury's 
hearers  —  her  hearers. 

And  then  Zury's  company  —  without  doubt  it 
was  more  interesting  to  her  than  that  of  anybody 
else  in  the  world  except  her  children.  Many  as 
sociations  of  various  kinds  gave  him  a  great  place 
in  her  Western  life  ;  and  besides,  she  shared  with 
the  rest  of  his  friends  the  feeling  of  interest  and 
amused  respect  which  his  fresh  and  vigorous  orig 
inality  inspired. 

No   hour  —  no  morning  —  no   day  —  could  be 


364  ZURY. 

more  attractive  than  one  spent  in  his  society,  lis 
tening  to  his  talk,  always  the  same,  yet  without 
sameness;  often  wrong,  otten  absurd,  often  affected 
in  its  piety  or  cynicism,  often  false,  to  draw  out 
his  interlocutor,  but  never  dull.  She  felt  when 
with  him  that  she  was  at  her  best,  and  that  he 
was  fully  as  much  pleased  to  hear  her  ideas  as 
she  was  to  hear  his.  It  was  always  a  game  of 
battledore  between  them,  except  when  there  came 
a  silence,  which,  after  all,  was  scarcely  less  inter 
esting.  This  plan  of  his,  for  a  long  drive  with 
her  (as  she  smiled  to  perceive),  was  in  view  of 
these  pleasant  relations,  and  would  have  had  all 
these  charms  to  the  full. 

So  she  could  not  think  of  permitting  it. 

In  the  evening  Zury  tried  to  rally  her  out  of 
her  determination  to  hasten  home. 

44  Naow,  Mis  McVey  —  what  makes  ye  in  sech 
an  all-fired  hurry  ?  Can't  ye  put  up  with  com 
mon  folkses  livin'  no  longer  ?  'Course  it 's  pootty 
poor  pickin's  —  not  t'  be  called  fash'nable  's  I 
know  on  —  but  then  we  might  kill  a  hawg  er 
suth'n'  ef  that  'd  be  any  object !  " 

"  Oh,  dear,"  answered  Anne  with  one  of  her 
merry  laughs.  "  One  reason  I  must  go  home  is 
my  fear  of  getting  fat  and  lazy  with  idleness  and 
feasting !  " 

44  Oh,  we  kin  fix  that  all  right,  tew  !  Set  ye  t' 
white washin'  th'  fence,  er  droppin'  corn  as  fast  as 
two  men  kin  kiver  it,  'n'  then  ferget  all  abaout 
dinner  —  jest  braouse  'raound  instead  o'  feedin' 
reg'lar.  Guess  ye  won't  fatten  t'  trouble  ye 
much." 


DEFEATED,   THOUGH   VICTORIOUS.  365 

44  Still,  I  should  n't  be  altogether  happy.  Two 
anchors  hold  me  to  Springville ;  and  you  know 
the  longer  the  cable  you  have  out  the  stronger 
your  anchor  holds." 

"  Oh  !  Them  troublesome  twins !  Could  n't 
ye  git  'em  'dopted  aout  sorne'ers  ?  " 

u  Now,  Mr.  Prouder,  it 's  plain  you  never  were 
the  mother  of  two  lovely  children  !  " 

44  Wai,  not  sence  I  kin  remember.  But  what 
of  it  ?  They  're  weaned,  I  understand." 

"  Another  thing :  you  never  were  book-keeper 
in  a  general  supply  store  —  you  absent,  and  your 
work  running  behind!  This  very  day,  being  the 
end  of  the  month,  there  ought  to  be  two  hundred 
monthly  statements  of  account  all  headed  and 
started,  and  a  trial  balance  nearly  ready  so  as  to 
be  handed  in  to-morrow  or  the  day  after  !  " 

44  Sho  tew  man  !  "  exclaimed  Zury,  who  had  all 
the  ordinary  layman's  awe  of  the  supposed  mys 
teries  of  book-keeping.  <4  Be  yew  up  t'  all  them 
things?  No  wonder  ye  kin  make  p'litickle 
speeches !  Er  do  any  other  yarthly  thing  ye  set 
yer  hand  tew  !  Should  n'  wonder  ef  ye  c'd  keep 
a  hotel !  " 

44  Of  course  I  could  !  How  do  you  s'pose  I  get 
along  ?  Do  you  think  I  've  been  begging  my 
house-rent,  and  fuel,  and  food,  and  clothing,  and 
schooling,  for  my  darlings?  This  is  the  hard  and 
callous  hand  of  toil  ? "  And  she  brandished  a 
hand  still  fine,  plump,  white,  and  dimpled.  Her 
one  surviving  vanity  was  her  hands ;  her  children 
would  not  let  it  fade  away. 


366  ZUR  Y. 

"  Thar 's  a  hand  t'  make  a  white-wash-brush 
turn  pale  !  Wai,  ef  ye  must  go,  ye  must,  thet  's 
all.  I  've  got  a  little  business  up  in  th'  north  end 
o'  th'  caounty  to-morrer  —  be  back  a  Tuesday  — 
take  ye  over  t'  th'  Danfield  meetin'  a  We'nsd'y 
ef  that'll  suit  ye,  'n'  git  on  t'  Springville  nex' 
day." 

"  Well,  we  '11  see,  we  '11  see,"  said  Anne  mus 
ingly.  "  I  hope  for  a  letter  to-morrow,  that  may 
let  me  know  more  about  things  at  home." 

Next  day,  Monday,  after  Zury  had  gone,  his 
wife  drove  over  to  Wayback  with  Anne.  She 
found  the  letter,  sure  enough  ;  a  formidable  docu 
ment  that  almost  took  her  breath  away,  until  she 
opened  it.  There  it  was  —  in  her  dear  girl's  un 
formed  though  neat  handwriting  —  a  trial-balance 
sheet  for  the  month  just  closed!  She  couldn't 
believe  her  eyes.  (Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  they 
filled  with  tears.)  Long  rows  of  toilsome  figures, 
the  remains  of  some  of  Phil's  bolder  pencil-marks 
where  he  had  helped  Meg  with  the  additions  ;  and 
all  complete  and  perfect  without  even  a  word  of 
explanation  !  Her  dear  twinnies  —  hers  alone  — 
so  bright,  so  good,  and  so  devoted !  Why  did  she 
ever  leave  them !  What  other  dreams  of  happi 
ness  could  she  ever,  ever  harbor  except  to  be  al 
ways  with  them  ?  The  "  mother  hunger  "  arose  in 
her  heart  in  such  a  flood  that  it  seemed  as  if  she 
should  drown  in  it. 

She  asked  the  postmaster  about  getting  to 
Springville  by  stage,  but  learned  that  "  the  hack," 
as  he  called  it,  did  not  come  nearer  than  Dan- 


DEFEATED,   THOUGH    VICTORIOUS.  367 

field.  There  it  turned  back,  and  the  mail  came 
the  rest  of  the  way  on  horseback. 

Mrs.  Prouder  glanced  with  wonder  at  the  array 
of  words  and  figures  in  Meg's  letter,  and  from 
them  to  Anne's  tearful  eyes.  Her  dull  idea  of 
tears  was  that  they  were  the  mark  of  grief. 

"  I  'm  afeared  ye  've  mebbe  got  bad  news  ! " 

"  Bad  ?  Oh,  no !  Not  at  all,  but  quite  the  con 
trary."  She  was  about  to  explain  the  book-keep 
ing  miracle  when  she  bethought  herself  that  this 
unknown  mystery  might  furnish  her  the  needed 
excuse  for  getting  home  before  Zury's  return. 

"  The  news  is  not  to  be  called  bad  at  all,  except 
that  I  must  get  over  to  Danfield  to-morrow,  and 
go  from  there  to  Springville  by  stage." 

"  Oh  lauk  !  Be  all  them  figgers  wrong  ?  Hev 
ye  got  t'  go  'n'  write  'em  all  over  again  right  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  can't  be  quite  sure  until  I  get  there. 
Then  I  '11  write  you.  Now  how  can  I  get  to  Dan- 
field  best  and  quickest  ?  " 

Of  course  this  was  soon  and  simply  arranged. 
Mrs.  Prouder  was  delighted  to  have  Anne's  bright 
spirit  all  to  herself  through  a  long  drive,  during 
which  she  could  exhaust  and  deplete  it,  as  dull 
ness  does  pull  down  brightness  whenever  it  gets  it 
in  its  power.  Anne  got  away  next  day  and  reached 
home  without  accident;  but  what  a  blank  look 
came  over  Zury's  face  when  he  found  that  she  had 
gone  !  Seldom  had  the  wife  seen  him  so  "  savage  " 
as  he  was  for  some  days  afterwards.  And  in  her 
flabby  way  she  wondered  what  was  the  matter. 
The  wild  idea  of  a  woman's  becoming  necessary  to 


368  ZURY. 

the  happiness  of  a  man  who  is  not  her  husband 
was  so  far  beyond  her  scope  of  vision  that  she 
could  not  have  grasped  it  even  if  some  one  had 
tried  to  communicate  it  to  her.  It  would  have 
been  to  her  like  a  French  riddle  to  an  American 
reader :  he  cannot  guess  it,  even  when  he  knows 
the  answer. 

How  would  Anne  have  liked  it  had  she  also 
seen  Zury's  suppressed  fury  at  his  disappoint 
ment?  Of  course  it  would  have  confirmed  her  as 
to  the  wisdom  and  propriety  of  inflicting  it  upon 
him.  But  perchance  there  would  have  been  a 
drop  of  consolation  in  it.  Women  are  not  much 
offended  by  men's  insolent  ways  in  insisting  on 
enjoying  their  society.  Indifference  to  it  is  more 
galling.  And  then,  as  we  know,  Anne  had  not 
had  her  fair  share  of  masculine  attention. 

When  Anne  reached  her  cottage  there  was  a 
wild  scene,  and  it  was  some  minutes  before  she 
and  Meg  could  be  disentangled  from  each  other 
and  got  far  enough  apart  for  articulate  and  intel 
ligible  speech. 

Then  all  was  told  and  retold  on  both  sides  — 
the  son  and  daughter  proud  of  the  mother's  ora 
torical  achievement,  and  the  mother  proud  of  her 
daughter's  courage,  industry,  ability,  and  devotion ; 
also  of  Phil's  ditto,  ditto,  ditto,  ditto;  only  great 
doings  were  the  natural  phenomena  of  the  boy's 
life.  After  a  day  or  two  of  excited  narration, 
things  settled  back  into  their  wonted  routine, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  Anne  never  had  been  away, 
never  constructed  a  speech,  nor  heard  one ;  in 


DEFEATED,  THOUGH  VICTORIOUS.        369 

short,  as  if  her  later  Wayback  experiences  were 
years  and  years  old,  along  with  her  original  ones. 

When  next  Zury  visited  the  store,  Anne  caught 
sight  of  his  stalwart  shoulders  from  a  distance, 
and  beamed  with  pleasurable  anticipations  of 
their  meeting  and  the  customary  words,  more  full 
and  interesting  even  than  usual.  But  alas  !  She 
soon  began  to  see  that  the  great  man  was  in  high 
dudgeon  at  her  escape  and  avoidance  of  him,  and 
meant  her  to  see  it  very  plainly.  He  never  came 
near  her !  Anger  and  disappointment  were  her 
portion  all  day,  but  perhaps  he  would  come  to 
the  cottage  in  the  evening.  He  did  not.  Per 
haps  he  would  remain,  or  would  leave  at  the 
store  some  token  of  his  appreciation  of  her  ser 
vices.  How  and  in  what  words  should  she  decline 
any  k-  pay,"  as  poor  Mrs.  Prouder  had  phrased  it? 
She  needed  not  to  puzzle  herself  with  any  such 
problem:  no  "pay"  was  forthcoming,  and  he  de 
parted  without  a  word. 

"  The  great  brute ! "  she  said  to  herself,  with 
flashing  eyes.  "  Why  did  I  ever  forget  how  mean 
he  is !  Likely  enough  he  is  glad  to  have  the  ex 
cuse  of  the  pretended  offense,  to  get  clear  of  an 
inconvenient  obligation  without  its  costing  him 
anything!"  At  the  same  time  she  was  ashamed 
to  perceive  how  much  she  really  cared  about  his 
treatment  of  her. 

Anne's  anger  having  been  the  last  to  begin,  and 
being  complicated  with  some  anger  at  herself  for 
being  angry,  was  by  much  the  longer-lived.  When 
at  his  next  visit  he  attempted  to  show  her  that  he 


370  ZURY. 

had  forgiven  and  forgotten  her  offense,  she  re 
ceived  him  with  a  grave,  unresponsive  calm  that 
baffled  him  as  a  sandbank  nullifies  a  shrapnel 
shot. 

u  Why,  dew  tell,  Mis  Sparrer  —  McVey,  I 
should  say  !  That  ain't  never  yew,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  And  she  laid  down  her  pen  and 
turned  upon  him  two  solemn  eyes,  that  paused  as 
if  awaiting  some  important  reply. 

"  Why,  world n'  h'yer,  same 's  ever,  jes'  's  though 
the'  warn't  no  sech  a  place  's  Way  back,  ner  no  sech 
a  thing  as  a  mass  meetin'  'n'  a  stump  speech." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  "  and  she  turned  away  and  re 
sumed  her  pen  as  if  he  did  not  exist. 

"  I  thought  ye  mought  like  t'  know  th't  we  beat 
'em  so  't  the'  did  n'  know  whether  the'  wuz  a  foot 
er  a  hossback." 

"  On  foot  or  on  horseback  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  The'  'lected  me,  by  near  tew  t'  one  !  " 
Then  he  added  in  a  lower  tone  :  "  'Lected  yew,  I 
should  say." 

"  And  how  long  does  the  office  stay  with  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  I've  got  two  sessions,  anyhaow  —  that 
makes  it  just  two  years  from  now —  'n'  'f  I  git  a 
reelection,  which  I  don't  expect,  it  '11  make  it  a 
good  four  years." 

"  Well,  will  you  kindly  come  in  and  tell  me 
about  it  as  soon  as  your  two  years'  term  is  com 
pleted  ?  That  is,  unless  you  are,  as  you  say, 
elected  again,  in  which  case  I  hope  you  will  come 
in  after  the  four  years."  And  she  resumed  her 
writing,  though  with  a  trembling  hand. 


DEFEATED,  THOUGH    VICTORIOUS.        371 

44  Ki !  Ain't  she  hoppin'  mad  ! "  said  Zury  to 
himself  as  he  turned  away,  pleased  and  amused  at 
her  anger,  —  flattered  by  it,  in  truth.  Did  it  not 
indicate  irritation  at  his  neglect  of  her  ?  All 
through  his  presence  at  the  store,  Anne  felt  rather 
than  saw  his  smiling  glances  in  her  direction,  and 
knew  that  her  rage  had  been  a  blunder,  which 
feeling  aggravated  it.  Yet  it  must  be  maintained. 
It  was  one  of  those  blunders  which,  well  stuck  to, 
are  the  next  best  things  to  no  blunders  at  all.  So 
when  Zury,  before  going  away,  made  a  second  at 
tempt  at  cordiality,  she  gave  him  another  slap. 
She  ignored  his  presence  while  deliberately  finish 
ing  the  addition  (wildly  wrong)  of  a  long  column 
of  figures,  and  then,  with  a  bored  and  weary  ex 
pression,  turned  to  him :  — 

44  Are  the  two  years  up  already  ?  " 

"  Wai,  it  seems  a  good  spell  anyhow." 

u  Is  it  two  years  ?  " 

44  Ya-as,  in  a  way,  ye  've  been  mad  enough  fer 
tew  hours  t'  last  tew  years,  I  sh'd  say." 

44  Then  make  it  four  years,  if  you  please.  Give 
my  best  regards  to  Mrs.  Prouder,  and  come  in 
again  in  four  years."  Then,  as  he  lingered  with 
an  irritating  smile  of  superior  good-temper,  she 
was  compelled  to  add  :  — 

"  Do  you  understand  English  ?  " 

44  Wai,  not  so  well  as  yew  do." 

44  Then  I  shall  have  to  teach  you  a  little  —  for 
once.  Please  understand  that  I  wish  to  be  left 
entirely  alone." 

44  Goin'  t'  put  me  aout,  be  ye  ?  " 


372  ZURY. 

"  I  can't  put  you  out ;  but  I  can  put  myself  out, 
and  I  shall  do  it,  if  I  have  to."  And  she  dis 
mounted  from  her  tall  stool  and  looked  at  him 
with  flashing  eyes,  waiting  to  see  what  he  would 
do. 

"  Oh,  see  h'yer  naow,  I  kin  fix  it  all  right  "  — 
And  she  was  gone  to  her  little  cloak-room  and  had 
shut  the  door. 

"  Great  Scott !  Don't  that  beat  all  ?  Temper ! 
I  sh'd  say  so  !  If  she  wuz  my  wife,  I  'd  — 
Dtmuo  's  I  would  nuther.  Dunno 's  I  could!" 
And  he  stalked  off  in  surprised  irritation — and 
respect.  Thus  did  she  snatch  a  victory,  albeit  a 
dear  one,  from  the  jaws  of  defeat. 

"'Course  I 'm  greatly  obleeged  tew  her.  But 
then !  A  man  don't  have  t'  stan'  everything. 
Guess  I  kin  put  up  with  it  's  long  's  she  kin  ! 
Mebbe  she  may  want  suth'n'  some  day.  I  kiii 
see  't  these  h'yer  fellers  ain't  a  half  pay  in'  on  hei 
fer  whut  she  dooz,  V  't  would  n't  take  but  a  word 
fr'm  me  t'  help  her.  I  wish  't  she  knowd  what 
she  's  a  losin'  by  a-quar'liu'  with  Zury  Praouder  !  " 
J  Then,  more  suo,  he  tried  to  comfort  himself 
with  the  glory  and  strength  of  his  position  — 
member-elect  of  the  legislature  ;  richest  man  in 
Spring  County,  and  the  meanest,  too,  where  he 
had  a  mind  to  be  mean,  but  having  no  mind  to  be 
mean  to  Anne  Sparrow  McVey,  unless  she  forced 
him  to  it ;  and  so  forth,  with  weary  and  fruitless 
repetition  :  for  it  was  nothing  but  sawdust-and- 
water  to  his  hungry  soul,  j 

"  Ki  I     Don't  a  man  leel  small  when  a  woman 


DEFEATED,  THOUGH   VICTORIOUS.        373 

hits  him  !  Seems  's  though  he  'd  ben  bit  by  a 
caow  er  kicked  by  a  dawg,  seein'  't  a  caow  can't 
bite  'n'  a  dawg  can't  kick.  Kinder  s'prised  t'  see 
haow  it  hurts  !  Wish  't  some  man  h'd  gone  fer 
me  th'  way  she  did !  But  her,  a  snappin'  them 
eyes  o'  hern  at  me,  'n'  a  showin'  her  shiny  teeth  ! 
'N'  a  comin'  aout  fust  best  when  I  knowed  I  wuz 
only  a  playin'  mad,  'n'  she  wuz  good  'n'  mad  ! " 

He  made  some  excuse  to  stay  at  Springville  over 
night,  and  in  the  evening  knocked  at  the  cottage 
door,  which  Anne  opened  to  him.  She  regarded 
him  with  cool  surprise,  and  did  not  ask  him  to 
enter. 

"  Haowdy,  haowdy,  marm  !  Be  all  well  h'yer  ?  " 

"Yes." 

44  Ye  see,  I  thought  I  'd  jest  kinder  drop  in,  '11' 
kinder  'pologize  fer  any  'ffense  I  mought  a  given." 

44  Apologize  ?  "  with  a  shrill  laugh,  as  if  the 
very  idea  was  too  amusing  to  grasp.  44  For  what? 
There 's  not  the  slightest  occasion." 

44  Wai,  ye  see,  I  'in  's  li'ble  t'  be  wrong  's  any 
body  —  mebbe  more  so  'n  most.  We  're  all  poor 
falliable  creeturs.  Ef  we  had  our  failin's  printed 
ontew  our  foreheads,  we  'd  hev  t'  keep  our  hats  on 
night  'n'  day,  'n'  Sund'ys,  —  'n'  well  pulled  daown 
over  our  eyes,  tew."  He  paused  for  a  little  help 
and  encouragement,  but  got  none.  "  So  I  'llaowed 
ye  would  n't  bear  no  malice,  'n'  —  we  'd  be  friends, 
same  as  ever." 

44  Yes,  surely,  Mr.  Prouder.  That  is  all  right. 
Don't  forget  to  give  my  regards  to  your  wife." 
(The  door  begins  to  close.) 


374  ZURY. 

"  I  thought  ef  so  be  the'  wuz  anythin'  I  c'd  dew 
fer  ye"  — 

"  Do  for  me  ?  Thank  you.  If  there  should  be 
anything,  I  will  certainly  let  you  know."  (Door 
closing  slowly.) 

"  Down  t'  th'  store,  naow  —  be  the'  a-treatin' 
on  ye  square?" 

"Perfectly." 

"  Haow  much  do  the'  pay  ye  ?  " 

"  They  pay  me  all  I  ever  asked  them." 

" 1  kin  make  'em  dew  what 's  right." 

"  Well,  if  I  ask  you  to  interfere,  I  have  no  doubt 
they  will  listen  to  you." 

After  an  awkward  pause,  the  poor,  crestfallen 
fellow  could  only  add  :  — 

"Is  that  — all?" 

"  All,  to-night,  I  believe.  Don't  forget  my 
message  to  your  wife."  And  the  door,  after  al 
lowing  passage  to  a  muffled  "  Good  night,"  shut 
entirely. 

Zury  walked  away  too  much  hurt  to  allow  room 
even  for  anger.  "  Got  m'  walkin'  papers  sure," 
said  he.  "  Yet  I  meant  well.  I  meant  well." 

Anne  had  to  face  her  children  and  answer  their 
questions. 

"  Mr.  Prouder?  Oh,  mother!  why  didn't  you 
ask  him  in?  I  'm  just  wild  to  see  him  !  " 

"  Why,  Phil,  he  is  very  busy,  you  know,  and 
has  no  time  to  give  to  poor  folks." 

"But  what  is  he  going  to  do  to  pay  you  for 
what  you  did  for  him  ?  Did  n't  he  even  offer  to 
serve  you  somehow  ?  Then  he  must  be  as  mean 
as  he  's  cracked  up  to  be  !  Or  meaner." 


DEFEATED,  THOUGH   VICTORIOUS.        375 

"  Certainly,  Phil ;  that  is  what  he  came  for,  to 
offer  me  help  in  any  way  I  could  name.  Of 
course  I  told  him  there  wasn't  anything.  If  I 
had  n't  yon,  now,  to  be  sure  it  would  be  different." 

44  Of  course ! "  said  the  gratified  boy,  with  one 
of  his  rare  caresses. 

44  But, mother,"  cried  Meg,  44  what 's  the  matter? 
You  're  as  pale  as  pale  !  I  believe  he  brought  bad 
news,  or  said  something  unpleasant." 

44  No,  you  foolish  child,"  replied  her  mother, 
forcing  a  laugh.  44  Nothing  of  the  kind  !  But  I 
don't  feel  very  well,  and  I  think  I  '11  go  and  lie 
down." 

She  went  into  her  bedroom,  and  much  to  their 
amazement  they  heard  her  lock  her  door.  They 
had  never  before  known  that  it  could  be  locked. 

Once  there,  she  fairly  broke  down,  and  cried  on 
her  pillow.  (It  is  a  pretty  sight,  —  a  woman  cry 
ing  for  pain  she  has  inflicted.) 

"  What  a  fool  I  am  !  Of  course  there  was 
nothing  else  to  be  done!  I  wish.  I  were  really 
angry  with  him!  But  it  is  myself  I  am  angry 
with  ;  and  it  is  he  I  punish  for  it !  Well,  it  '11 
all  come  right  some  day  and  somehow.  I  don't 
suppose  he  was  ever  so  cut  up  before  in  his  life ! 
But  it  will  do  him  good  I  The  hateful  thing !  " 


CHAPTER  XX. 

SHOOTING-MATCH.  —  CHOIR.  —  PASTOR'S  VISIT. 

ZUHY  now  stayed  away  from  Springville  as 
much  as  he  could,  quelling  his  mortification  by 
the  help  of  increased  attention  to  business.  When 
he  did  visit  the  store  it  all  came  back  upon  him, 
and  he  looked  wistfully  toward  Anne's  desk  to  see 
if  the  disfavor  he  had  fallen  into  was  departing. 
But  she  remembered  her  inexplicable  and  inex 
cusable  tears;  so  no  sign  showed  that  she  was 
aware  of  his  existence. 

One  day  his  restless  discontent  led  him  to  try 
to  steal  a  look  at  Phil.  At  least  he  should  see 
her  son  !  He  strolled  over  to  the  railway  repair- 
shops  and  entered  the  round-house,  where  six  iron 
steeds  stood  backed  into  their  stalls,  their  for 
midable  noses  all  pointing  to  the  turn-table  in  the 
centre.  Around  them  hung  the  usual  crowd  of 
rustics,  staring  open-mouthed  at  the  still  unaccus 
tomed  sight  of  a  railway  locomotive.  How  huge 
they  looked  under  cover!  How  heavy,  helpless, 
sleepy,  and  peaceful  compared  to  their  raging  force 
and  speed  when  at  work!  Elephants  in  winter 
quarters  must  resemble  housed  locomotives. 

Behind  them,  and  in  the  adjoining  shops  and 
forge-house,  were  the  anvils,  planing-machines, 


SHOOTING  MATCH.  377 

lathes,  work  -  benches  and  tools,  usually  well- 
manned  with  grimy  mechanics,  now  almost  de 
serted  ;  for  it  chanced  to  be  a  pay-day  and  a 
Saturday  half-holiday.  The  hands,  in  their  better 
clothes,  were  most  of  them  clustered  about  the 
pay-desk  in  one  corner.  One  of  them,  a  fine 
specimen  of  incipient  manhood,  Zury  easily  recog 
nized  as  Anne's  son :  his  level  brows,  bright  eyes, 
dark  red  cheeks,  curly  hair,  square  shoulders,  pow 
erful  limbs,  and  quick,  strong  action,  would  attract 
attention  anywhere  from  any  connoisseur  in  stirpi- 
culture;  and  they  somehow  seemed  to  mark  him 
out  as  the  fellow  Zury  was  wishing  to  know  with 
out  being  known  by  him. 

Phil  stood  at  a  bench,  engaged  in  the  apparently 
childish  occupation  of  rolling  bullets  one  after 
another  down  an  inclined  board  into  a  little  cup, 
scarcely  larger  than  themselves,  ready  to  receive 
them  at  the  bottom.  About  one  out  of  four  would 
miss  the  cup  and  drop  outside  it. 

Zury  did  not  ask  any  questions,  but  he  was  glad 
when  some  one  else  did.  A  large-eyed  little  boy 
ventured :  — 

"  Say,  Phil,  what  ye  doin'  that  fer  ?" 

"  Oh,  jest  playin'  marbles." 

"  What  ye  tryin'  t'  hit  ?  " 

"  Them  others  in  the  cup." 

44  Lemme  try  wunst." 

4*  All  right ;  "  indicating  the  ones  that  had  rolled 
aside.  The  ambitious  youth  tried  and  tried 
again,  but  they  all  fell  wide  of  the  mark.  A  loud 
guffaw  from  his  rude  fellows  greeted  his  failure, 


378  ZURY. 

and  he  slunk  back  abashed.  Phil's  looks  followed 
the  little  man,  who  was  evidently  a  gentle  soul, 
small  of  his  age,  and  absurdly  sensitive. 

"  Come  back,  Freddy,"  said  Phil ;  but  Freddy 
walked  away,  apparently  bound  for  home  and 
sympathy. 

tk  Hold  on,  Fred,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  ; "  then, 
as  the  boy  kept  on,  Phil  skipped  after  him,  caught 
him  affectionately  round  the  neck,  and  led  him 
back  to  the  bench. 

"  Ye  see,  some  of  the  bullets  don't  chill  regular 
and  even  when  they  are  cast  —  one  side  's  lighter 
'n  t'  other,  see  ?  Coarser  grained  ;  kinder-dozy 
like  —  that  makes  it  lighter.  Those  that's  that 
way  roll  wobbly  'n'  crooked,  see?  'N'  a  ball 
that  won't  roll  straight  won't  shoot  straight." 

"  Lemme  try  some  on  'em  outer  the  cup." 

"All  right!"  And  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
running  them  successfully.  So  was  the  tender 
spirit  comforted,  and  the  scoffers  rebuked — and 
Zury  pleased  with  Phil's  kind-heartedness. 

"  Be  ye  goin'  t'  shewt  ?  "  asked  Freddy. 

"  Yes.  Some  of  us  are  goin'  over  into  the 
woods  by  the  river  to  try  our  rifles." 

"  Why  don't  ye  take  along  the  crooked  bullets 
t'  give  the  other  fellers  ?  " 

"  Well,  ye  see,  I  know  if  they  have  good  balls 
that  '11  go  jest  where  they  aim  'em,  I  can  beat  'em 
shootin'  every  time.  But  if  they  have  crooked 
ones,  why  they  may  chance  to  hit  the  bull's-eye 
once  in  a  while,  coz  they  don't  aim  at  it." 

With  which  sarcastic   pleasantry  he  gathered 


SHOOTING  MATCH.  379 

up  the  rejected  pellets  and  popped  them  back  into 
the  melting-pot. 

When  the  riflemen  set  out  they  were  accom 
panied  by  a  considerable  number  of  the  loungers, 
among  whom  Zury  walked  along  unconspicuous. 
The  place  being  reached,  and  the  ranges  paced 
off,  the  marks  —  a  "  blaze  "  in  the  side  of  a  tree, 
and  a  charcoal  mark  in  the  middle  of  the  blaze  — 
established,  and  the  order  of  shooting  fixed  by 
lot,  the  quick,  sharp  cracks  began  and  followed 
each  other  in  rapid  succession  —  sounding  almost 
like  one  side  of  a  small  skirmish  between  outposts. 
The  shooting  was  not  the  modern  style  —  tele 
scopic  sights,  long  distances,  targets  almost  out  of 
sight,  rifles  resting  on  knee  or  foot,  or  some  artifi 
cial  support.  Each  shooter  stood  in  his  place  and 
raised  and  steadied  his  heavy  piece  by  sheer  force 
of  nerve  and  muscle. 

Phil  with  his  iron  biceps  and  forearm  was  easily 
first  at  all  distances.  At  the  short  range,  thirty 
yards,  the  outside  of  his  bullet-holes  averaged  as 
close  to  centre  as  the  inside  of  those  of  his  best 
competitor,  and  the  poorest  shots  of  those  two  as 
good  as  the  best  put  in  by  anybody  else.  The  long 
distances,  one  hundred  yards,  showed  about  the 
same  relative  prowess ;  and  after  fruitless  efforts 
to  match  him  they  all  gave  up  the  trial,  and  sat 
down  to  clean  their  guns  and  tell  shooting  stories. 
Of  course  these  grew  from  fact  to  fable,  and  from 
fable  to  that  wild,  grotesque,  caricatured  extrava 
gance  which  seems  to  be  the  type  of  American 
fun. 


380  ZURY. 

First  there  were  the  old  tales  —  how  one  seeing 
a  long  line  of  pigeons  sitting  on  a  limb,  fired,  not 
at  them,  but  at  the  limb  —  split  it  —  and  caught 
them  all  by  their  toes  in  the  crack.  Then,  too, 
was  repeated  the  old  Munchausen  story  about 
sending  a  bullet  with  a  string  attached  through  a 
whole  line  of  wild  geese,  which  at  once  flew  away 
and  carried  the  shooter  whither  he  would. 

"  Say,  fellers,  my  dad  used  t'  be  here  in  Illinoy 
when  th'  wuz  injins  'raoun' ;  V  him  V  a  ol'  buck 
injin  got  t'  firm'  at  each  other  fin  behind  tew 
trees  baout  a  quarter  of  a  mild  apart.  They  shot 
V  shot  V  shot  till  th'  trees  wuz  near  abaout  cut 
daown  by  splinterin'  off  th'  sides.  Dad's  tree 
growed  so  slim  th't  't  would  n't  hardly  hide  his 
body  no  more,  V  all  the  hind  buttons  wuz  shot 
offen  his  pants.  Then  he  thort  he'd  fix  Mr.  In 
jin.  He  was  orfle  strong  in  his  han's  ;  'n'  so  he 
jes'  bent  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle  acrost  his  knee 
close  t'  th'  eend,  so  't  th'  ball  'd  go  straight  ontel 
it  'd  got  'most  aout,  'n'  then  take  a  sudding  turn 
t'  sideways.  Then  he  let  th'  ol'  injin  have  it,  'n' 
sure  enough  th'  bullet  went  straight  ahead  till  it 
got  past  th'  ol'  cuss's  tree,  'n'  then  it  whipped 
raound  'n'  killed  him  !  " 

"  Oh  you  sho,  Jim  !  That  warn't  much !  Haow 
fur  off  d'  ye  say  th'  injin  stood  ?  " 

"  Mebbe  a  quarter,  er  so." 

"  Wai,  mos'  anybody  kin  kill  a  injin  inside  of  a 
mild  —  jes'  shoot  so  laoud  it  '11  scare  him  t'  death  ! 
But  wha'  'd  ye  think  o'  my  dad  killin'  a  feller 
clar  off  in  York  State  ?  " 


SHOOTING  MATCH.  381 

"  Noth'n'  very  strange  abaout  that.  That 's 
why  he  hed  t'  leave  thar  I  'xpeck." 

"  No  sirree  !  It  was  after  he  got  here  he  shot 
back  at  him.  Ye  see  the  feller  he  owed  dad 
money  V  wrote  him  a  letter  sayin'  he  could  n't  'n' 
would  n't  pay  a  cent.  So  dad  he  tuk  th'  letter, 
see  whar  it  come  from,  tuk  good  aim,  'n'  put  the 
bullet  in  another  letter  'n'  sent  it  back  by  mail ; 
'n'  it  got  thar  in  abaout  six  weeks  'n'  killed  him 
dead." 

"  No  wonder,  nuther  !  He  jes'  cast  one  o'  your 
yarns  inside  'n'  it  busted  like  a  bombshell  jes  's 
sune  's  anybody  took  a  holt  on  it,  'specially  ef  he 
tried  t'  swaller  it." 

"  Thasso,  thasso,  friend  Rice !  Onless  he  had 
a  bread-baskit  's  big  's  yourn,  'n'  then  it  wouldn't 
a  hurt  him.  Ef  it  busted  in  the  middle  the  pieces 
'd  be  all  wore  aout  afore  they  c'd  reach  the  sides." 

"  Lord,  John.  If  ye  could  shewt  as  straight  as 
ye  kin  lie !  But  then  the  trouble  is  ye  kin  shewt 
only  jest  abaout  's  crooked  's  as  ye  kin  tell  th' 
truth.  Fellers,  d'  ye  know  why  John  sold  his  gun 
'n'  don't  shewt  any  more  ?  Tell  ye  haow  it  wuz. 
He  tried  shewtin'  at  a  bar'1-head  nailed  ontew  th' 
barn-door.  Wai,  he  could  n't  hit  it,  ner  find  aout 
whar  in  the  yarth  th'  bullets  went  tew.  Then  he 
went  up  closer  'n'  jest  aimed  at  th'  barn-door  it 
self.  No  difference;  he  couldn't  hit  it.  Then 
he  went  up  close  's  he  could  git,  'n'  shot  at  th' 
whole  barn  ;  but  fellers,  if  ye  '11  believe  me,  he 
never  hit  it  once  ontel  he  went  inside  'n'  shut  th' 
door ! " 


382  ZURY. 

"  Fellers,  my  dad  war  n't  no  gre't  shakes  with  a 
rifle,  but  take  a  shot-gun  —  sakes  alive  !  Could 
n't  he  jest  more  'n'  shoot !  Tell  ye  what 's  a  fack. 
We  come  f'm  Maryland,  where  th'  wuz  lots  o' 
cherries  —  no  trouble  to  make  cherry-pies  except 
th'  cherry-stones.  All  th'  other  fellers  used  t' 
want  t'  git  a  piece  o'  my  cherry-pie  coz  theirs 
wuz  all  stones,  'n'  mine  did  n'  never  have  a  nary 
one.  Know  haow  it  wuz?" 

"  Yer  dad  uster  stan'  over  ye  with  a  gad  'n' 
make  ye  stone  'em  all !  " 

44  Gad  thunder  !  Stone  nothin' !  Mother  'd  jes' 
take  a  panfle  of  cherries  up  in  the  chamber 
winder ;  dad  he  'd  jes  stan'  off  a  right  smart 
piece  with  his  shot-gun  ;  mother  she  'd  pour  aout 
th'  hull  panfle  o'  cherries;  dad  he'd  shoot;  'n' 
sure  's  yer  born  he  'd  jes'  put  one  shot  through 
every  cherry  —  knock  the  stone  aout,  'n'  let  the 
meat  drap  daown  inter  a  dish  on  the  graoun'  un 
derneath  !  'N'  ef  ye  don't  b'lieve  it  ye  kin  jes  go 
t'  Maryland  'n'  see  th'  shot-marks  in  th'  side  o' 
th'  haouse ! " 

"  Speakin'  o'  shot-guns,  pards,  did  ye  never  hear 
of  a  savin'  cuss  that  uster  go  duck-shootin'  daown 
on  Spring  River?  He  was  tew  mean  t'  spend  a 
hull  charge  onter  one  duck :  ef  he  could  'n'  git 
tew  in  a  line  he  'd  jes  keep  a  cork  in  his  teeth,  'n' 
when  he  shot  at  a  duck  he  'd  hurry  up  'n'  cork  up 
his  gun-barl  's  sune  's  enough  shot  got  aout  t'  kill 
that  one ;  'n'  then  when  he  got  a  bead  drawd  on 
another  duck  he  'd  pull  the  cork  aout  'n'  let  him 
hev  the  rest." 


SHOOTING  MATCH.  388 

Zury  reddened  and  ground  his  teeth  at  this 
pleasing  tale,  recognizing  it  as  one  of  the  count 
less  yarns  which  had  been  told  of  him  in  his 
youth.  Nobody  knew  him  here,  so  he  was  spared 
any  open  mortification.  But  he  felt  that  he  would 
not  have  had  Phil  recognize  him  as  the  man  who 
had  been  mean  enough  to  start  such  stories  of 
meanness  at  his  expense  —  no,  not  for  a  good  deal. 
Not  for  a  good  deal !  Though  he  used  to  glory 
in  that  yarn  among  the  rest. 

"  Say,  pards :  't  ain't  no  trick  at  all  t'  shoot  th' 
bark  offen  a  tree,  but  wha'  'd  ye  say  t'  splittin' 
a  dawg's  bark  right  in  tew  in  the  middle  ?  " 

"  Less  try  it !  Yew  bark,  Jim,  'n'  we  '11 
shoot ! " 

"  Oh,  yew  smarty  !  Jest  lemme  tell  ye,  boys, 
haow  my  dad  did  that  trick.  One  night  th'  wuz 
a  dawg  ou'doors  th't  jes'  kep  up  his  yawp,  yawp, 
so  't  mam  she  could  n'  sleep  no  more  'n'  a  fish. 
So  dad  he  upped  'n'  tuck  his  gun,  'n'  opened  th' 
winder.  It  wnz  darker  'n'  a  pocket,  'n'  he  could  n' 
see  a  blame  thing.  So  wha'  'd  he  dew  but  wait 
till  the  dawg  barked,  'n'  he  fired  at  the  bark. 
The'  did  n'  h'yer  no  more  o'  th'  dawg,  'n'  nex' 
mornin'  dad  he  got  aout  bright  'n'  early,  'n'  wha' 
'd  ye  think  he  faound?" 

"  Faound  th'  dawg  shot  through  the  head,  'n' 
the  bark  gone  ?  " 

"  Noap !     Guess  agin." 

"  Faoun'  the  dawg-gone  dawg  gone,  V  the 
bark  shot  threw  th'  head." 

"  Noap !  He  faound  th'  caow  shot  threw  the 
head  'n'  th'  dawg  a  eatin'  up  th'  carkiss  !  " 


384  ZURY. 

"  Sho  t'  man  !  Dew  tell !  I  wanter  know !  Is 
that  so  fer  a  fack,  Jim  ?  " 

61  Hope  I  may  die !  " 

44  Cross  yer  heart  ?  " 

"Cross  in'  heart!" 

44  See  it  yerself  ?  " 

"  Yes  sirree,  I  jes'  did  that !  " 

"  Ef  ye  had  n't  a  seen  it  ye  would  n't  a  b'lieved 
it,  naow  would  ye  Jim  ?  " 

44  Ye  're  mighty  right  I  would  n't !  " 

44  Wai,  we  did  n't  see  it,  so  of  course  "  — 

"  Say,  Sam,  d'  ye  wanter  hurt  my  feelin's  ?  " 

44  No,  Jim,  'course  not." 

"  Then  don't  call  me  a  liar." 

"  Oh,  sho  !  Ef  I  wanted  t'  hurt  yer  feelin'a 
d'  ye  think  I  'd  try  callin'  ye  a  liar  ?  No  sirree  ! 
Fer  that  jawb  I  'd  jes'  take  a  club." 

When  the  guns  were  all  cleaned,  the  restless 
spirits,  gay  with  the  mere  zest  of  unaccustomed 
holiday,  looked  about  for  fresh  worlds  to  con 
quer. 

44  Jesse,  I  '11  bet  ye  a  dollar  ye  can't  hit  that 
crow,  up  on  that  thar  dead  tree." 

"  Bet  ye  a  dollar  I  kin." 

44  Don't  let  'em  hurt  the  poor  crow,  Phil,"  whis 
pered  Fred.  Phil  glanced  up  at  the  bird  and  an 
swered,  — 

44  Th'  crow 's  safe  enough." 

Then,  after  a  pause,  he  looked  up  again :  — 

44  Jesse,  ye  can't  shoot  at  that  crow." 

"Why  not?" 

44  'Cause  ye  'd  miss  it,  V  then  whar  'd  the  bul 
let  go?" 


SHOOTING  MATCH.  385 

"  Dunno." 

"  It  'd  describe  a  parabolic  curve  'n'  'light  jest 
forty  rods  and  three-quarters  east  southwest  by 
north  from  th'  court  house  —  that's  right  in  yer 
mother's  back  yard." 

" 1  swow,  Jesse,  that  was  a  narrer  escape ! 
Bet  ye  a  dollar  yer  mother 's  jest  a-hangin'  out 
yer  biled  shirt ;  'n'  ef  it  had  got  tored  ye  'd  a  had 
t'  go  t'  church  t'-morrer  stark  naked !  " 

"  Bet  ye  a  dollar  I  could  a  hit  the  crow  if  I  'd 
a  shot." 

"  Bet  ye  a  dollar  ye  could  n't." 

"  Bet  ye  a  dollar  ye  hain't  got  a  dollar." 

"  Bet  ye  a  dollar  I  hev !  " 

And  so,  having  come  to  a  square  issue,  the  dis 
cussion  was  dropped. 

"  Ki,  fellers  !  Look-a-there  !  "  said  one,  in  an 
excited  whisper.  At  a  distance  of  some  hundred 
yards  or  more  there  was  a  whitish  object  —  an 
animal  about  as  large  as  a  cat,  with  fur  of  shin 
ing  lustre.  It  was  evidently  a  Mephitis  Ameri 
cana  ;  sometimes  (incorrectly)  called  a  pole-cat  — 
name  of  horror  and  disgust.  Several  hands  were 
stretched  out  for  rifles.  Phil's  among  the  rest. 

"  Hold  on,  pards.  Let  Phil  do  the  business 
—  rest  of  us  '11  miss  him,  likely  —  he  '11  fetch  him 
sure ! " 

Phil  slowly  raised  his  gun,  '*  drew  his  bead " 
firmly  and  accurately,  and  stood  motionless. 

"Shoot,  Luke,  er  give  up  the  gun,"  said  one, 
using  a  slang  phrase  well  known  as  a  common  fil 
lip  to  a  hesitating  speaker. 


886  ZURY. 

Phil  suddenly  changed  bis  aim  and  sent  his  bul 
let  smack  into  an  oak  hard  by,  while  the  poor 
beast,  alarmed  by  the  report,  scurried  away  to 
his  aromatic  nest  in  some  sequestered  hole  — 
doubtless  to  communicate  his  adventures  to  an  in 
teresting  family. 

"Wlia"d  ye  dew  that  fer,  ye  blamed  fool!" 
"  Why  did  n't  ye  give  somebody  else  a  chance  ef 
ye  thought  ye  wuz  a-goin  t'  miss  ? "  "  Might  a 
tried  him,  hit  er  miss."  These  inquiries,  spiced 
with  strong  expletives,  arose  on  all  sides. 

Phil  kept  quiet  and  went  to  wiping  out  his  gun 
again.  After  an  angry  silence,  one  of  the  elder 
men  asked,  in  a  decently  respectful  tone, — 

"  Why  did  n't  ye  try  yer  luck,  Phil?  " 

"  Well,  it  jest  struck  me,  after  I  'd  drawn  my 
bead  right  dead  for  him,  that  I  did  n't  happen  to 
have  no  grudge  against  him.  He  never  done  me 
no  harm  that  I  know  of.  Not  as  I  remember  at 
this  moment." 

A  loud  burst  of  laughter  met  this  avowal,  and 
it  nettled  Phil.  He  reddened  with  mortification 
and  rage  at  the  general  ridicule.  His  brows 
dropped  until  they  almost  joined  in  the  middle, 
and  his  bright  eyes  shone  under  them  with  an  an 
gry  light.  He  glanced  at  the  laughers,  one  after 
another,  until  one  big  boor  gave  voice  to  the  con 
tempt  of  the  rest. 

"  Ain't  he  mammy's  boy?  Should  n'  wonder 
ef  he  wuz  afraid  o'  hurtin'  his  uncle." 

Phil  set  down  his  gun  and  went  up  to  the 
speaker. 


SHOOTING  MATCH.  387 

"  Boy  enough  to  slap  your  mouth  if  you  '11  stand 
up." 

Thereupon  the  offender,  still  seated,  began  a 
loud  abusive  exculpation,  which  all  the  rest  recog 
nized  as  "  a  clean  back-down,"  and  turned  their 
ridicule  on  him. 

44  Did  n't  have  no  sand  in  yer  box,  did  ye,  Jim?  " 
"  Boy  side-tracked  ye,  fust  station,  did  n't  he?  " 

Phil  simply  knocked  off  the  boor's  hat,  which 
the  latter  picked  up  and  put  on  sidewise  so  as  to 
pretend  to  join  in  the  laugh,  saying  at  the  same 
time,  — 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right,  pard !  When  a  feller 
'pologizes  to  me,  handsome,  like  that,  I  don't  never 
say  a  word !  I  ain't  th'  feller  t'  bear  malice  I 
Any  time  I  've  said  anythin'  I  'm  sorry  fer,  I  'in 
glad  of  it !  " 

Phil's  forehead  cleared  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
clouded  over,  and  he  joined  in  the  general  hi 
larity. 

Zury  left  them  and  walked  back  to  town  in 
deep  thought. 

44  Beats  me,  don't  he !  I  hate  t'  hurt  a  hoss,  er 
even  a  dawg,  but  he  wun't  harm  nothin' !  Not  a 
blame  thing  is  tew  low  fer  Phil  t'  remember  it 
hez  rights!  Afore  all  the  rest  on  'em,  tew!  Oh 
Lordy,  Lordy !  Ef  I  only  hed  a  holt  on  him ! 
Wonder  ef  he  don't  want  nothin'  I  've  got ! 
'T  ain't  likely  — not  a  thing,  not  a  thing,  'thaout 
it's  money,  V  that  I  hain't  got,  not  t'  speak  of. 

"  He  wuz  a-goin'  fer  that  other  feller  hot 
enough,  tew !  Feller  's  big  's  tew  on  him,  pootty 


388  ZURY. 

near,  but,  Lord  !  that  did  n'  make  no  difference,  — 
not  t'  Phil  McVey !  Ef  be  'd  a-ben  a  Goliath  't 
would  a  ben  all  one  t'  that  little  David !  " 

Then  he  had  long,  dim  visions  of  what  his  life 
would  be  with  such  a  son. 

"  He  'd  cut  me  plum  aout,  like  enough.  I 
would  n'  be  nowhers.  Wai,  let  him.  All  the 
better.  Oh  Lordy,  Lordy,  ef  I  c'd  only  git  him ! 
He  beats  me,  all  holler.  Sees  me  'n'  goes  me 
one  better.  I  would  n't  hurt  a  child,  ner  a  hoss, 
ner  a  mule,  ner  a  dog,  ner  a  cat  —  he  would  n't 
even  hurt  a  skunk" 

The  next  day  being  Sunday,  Zury  contrived  to 
see  yet  more  of  these  three  interesting  beings 
with  whose  lives  his  thoughts  were  so  much  occu 
pied.  He  went  to  church,  took  an  inconspicuous 
seat,  and  watched  for  their  coming.  The  effort 
was  only  partly  successful,  for  Anne  entered 
alone ;  and,  as  it  happened,  sat  down  where  he 
could  scarcely  see  her.  So  being  disappointed,  he 
attended  to  the  service  and  observed  the  rest  of 
the  congregation.  The  choir  was  placed  in  a  cor 
ner,  beside  the  pulpit  and  on  a  level  with  it,  and 
facing  the  congregation. 

This  arrangement  has  its  advantages  and  its 
disadvantages.  It  lessens  the  "  dead  loads  of 
fun  "  which  have  been  the  perquisite  of  church- 
choirs  ever  since  they  began  to  supplement  the 
psaltery  and  shawm  of  primeval  worship  ;  or,  if  it 
does  not  lessen  it,  it  makes  it  more  public  and  less 
perilous.  No  more  flirting  behind  the  closely 
drawn  curtains,  no  more  whispered  arrangements 


SHOOTING  MATCH.  389 

for  homeward  walks  and  other  tete-a-tetes ;  no 
more  jealousy  aroused  in  the  breast  of  the  bass- 
singer  by  the  conduct  of  the  treble  and  the  tenor. 
The  minister  does  not  probably  miss  any  marriage 
fees,  at  any  rate  his  sermons  are  listened  to  by 
the  choir,  in  the  full  glare  of  public  observation, 
with  an  exemplary  attention  quite  rare  in  the 
old  hidden  bevy  of  youths  and  maidens. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  pretty  singers  have,  as 
spectators,  the  whole  churchful  of  their  friends  ; 
so  on  the  whole,  their  reward  gains  in  largeness 
what  it  loses  in  intensity. 

Zury  was  near  to  the  singers,  and  gave  them 
a  fair  share  of  his  attention.  The  evidently  con 
scious  belle  of  the  choir  did  not  enchain  his  re 
gards:  they  were  devoted  to  a  humble,  modest, 
unassuming  girl  who  apparently  thought  nothing 
of  her  looks,  because  she  was  well  aware  that  they 
were  not  worth  thinking  of.  Strong,  tall,  red- 
haired,  almost  or  quite  worthy  to  be  called  un 
gainly,  she  nevertheless  struck  him  as  the  most 
interesting,  the  most  trustworthy,  the  most  con 
scientious,  even  the  most  lovable  of  them  all  to  a 
middle-aged  man  like  him.  What  was  it  about 
her  that  made  his  eyes  and  his  thoughts  turn  to 
her  plain  face  with  a  refreshing  sense  of  rest, 
peace,  and  comfort?  Could  it  be  because  it  was 
evident  that  no  one  else  was  attracted  by  her  ? 
Even  there,  under  the  eyes  of  the  world,  one  might 
see  that  some  of  the  girls  were  more  sedulously 
waited  on  by  their  male  neighbors  than  were 
others.  Some  never  had  a  chance  to  find  their 


390  ZURY. 

own  places  in  the  hymn-books  and  tune-books. 
Almost  all  had  one  or  more  of  the  other  sex 
quietly  observant  and  constantly  serviceable.  But 
Zury's  favorite  waited  on  herself  with  perfect 
sweetness  and  good -humor,  even  had  time  and 
thought  to  spare  for  her  more  favored  and  more 
thoughtless  sisters  in  melody.  And  among  them 
she  evidently  found  regard  and  affection,  however 
lacking  she  was  in  the  qualities  which  could  exact 
it  from  the  other  sex ;  the  girls  had  each  a  smile 
for  her  whenever  their  eyes  met. 

When  the  last  hymn  had  been  sung  and  the 
last  amen  said,  Zury  made  his  way  out  with  the 
rest,  just  in  time  to  see  Anne  joined  in  her  home 
ward  walk  by  his  friend  from  the  choir.  It  was 
Margaret. 

While  Zury  was  still  cogitating  over  the  one 
sided  acquaintance  he  had  thus  curiously  struck 
up  with  Margaret,  the  minister  came  out,  and  rec 
ognized  him  as  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  Wayback 
church  where  he  had  sometimes  preached.  He 
was  an  elderly  parson  —  one  of  the  salt  of  the 
earth  but  of  a  pulpit  dullness  verging  on  the 
miraculous. 

"Brother  Prouder!  This  is  a  rare  pleasure. 
Seldom  do  we  see  you  at  our  Springville  ministra 
tions.  How  is  the  work  of  the  Lord  prospering 
at  Wayback  ?  " 

"  Middling  middling  brother.  Same  with  yew 
I  hope  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  Lord  does  not  quite  forget  even  the 
most  unworthy  of  his  servants.  I  have  no  reason 
to  complain  —  no  reason  to  complain." 


SHOOTING  MATCH.  391 

"  Folks  take  a-holt  pootty  good  ?  " 

"Well  —  not  overly  well  —  not  overly  well. 
Sometimes  I  feel  a  little  disheartened  by  a  certain 
deadness  —  but  then  I  realize  that  the  fault  must 
be  mine  —  the  fault  must  be  mine.  I  am  charged 
with  a  blessed  message,  but  lack  the  tongue  of 
power  to  make  it  heard.  When  I  hear  of  the  glo 
rious  doings  of  brother  Pratt  and  brother  Blank, 
I  feel  ashamed  of  my  backwardness." 

"  Oh,  mebbe  ef  ye  wuz  a-flyin'  'raound  f'm 
place  t'  place  's  they  be,  ye  might  git  up  steam 
same  's  they  dew." 

"  Possibly,  if  Providence  had  seen  fit  to  vouch 
safe  me  a  wider  field  to  gleam  from,  I  might  have 
more  sheaves  to  show  —  more  sheaves  to  show  — 
but  I  never  can  find  time  to  stray  away  from  my 
narrow  sphere  of  labor." 

"  Wai,  naow  that  reminds  me  of  the  boy  they 
tell  on  ;  a  feller  come  along  'n'  see  him  a  whalin' 
away  at  a  stick  of  wood  with  an  axe  duller  'n'  a 
hoe  ;  'n'  the  feller  he  asked  him  why  he  did  n't  go 
'n'  grind  his  axe,  'n'  the  boy,  sez  he;  4ef  yew  had 
sech  a  pile  o'  wood  t'  cut  's  that,  I  guess  ye  would 
n't  be  monkeyin'  'raound  a-grindin'  no  axes.' " 

"  Ha-ha  I  Well,  I  suppose  I  am  a  little  like  that 
boy  I  But  God  has  not  seen  fit  to  furnish  me  any 
one  to  turn  grindstone  for  me.  I  suppose  the  axe 
is  not  worth  grinding.  He  will  sooner  lay  it  aside 
and  provide  a  new  one." 

"  Oh  sho,  Brother  Kizer  !  Yew  're  all  right ;  it's 
yer  hearers  is  in  fault !  " 

"  They  don't  think  so.     On  the  contrary,  they 


392  ZURY. 

think  that  if  there  were  more  power  in  the  pulpit, 
there  would  be  more  movement  in  the  pews !  " 

"  Ah  yah  !  There  it  is  agin  !  I  've  seen  it  more 
times  in  my  life  'n  I've  got  fingers  V  toes!  A 
preacher  a-draggin'  the  hull  congregation  !  One 
poor  ole  man  strugglin'  along  between  the  shafts 
—  his  tongue  a-lollin'  aout,  'n'  the  sweat  a-pourin' 
offen  his  face  —  'n'  the  hull  congregation,  deakins 
V  all,  a-ridin'  on  th'  wagin  !  'N'  every  little 
while  somebody  ups  'n'  sez  's  haow  th'  ole  nag's 
a  gittin'  slow,  'n'  'd  oughter  be  touched  up  ! " 

"  Oh  brother,  brother  !  Such  words  as  yours  are 
comforting  to  the  soul !  I  wish  there  were  more 
like  you  —  that  I  had  you  in  my  own  fold  !  I  feel 
as  though,  if  I  had  such  a  refreshing  spirit  as 
yours  always  within  my  sphere,  even  I  might 
gain  a  certain  freshness  —  the  old  axe  might  grow 
to  be  a  little  sharper !  I  doubt  not  but  that  you 
are  a  noble  friend  to  the  church  in  Wayback ! " 

"Wai,  I  guess  I  'm  a  heap  sight  better  hand  at 
findin'  fault  with  other  folks,  than  I  be  a-doin' 
any  better  ner  what  they  dew."  Then  after  a 
pause,  during  which  poor  Kizer  was  ruminating 
delightfully  on  Zury's  quaint  words  of  encourage 
ment,  the  latter  went  on. 

"  By  the  way,  brother,  ye  've  got  some  of  aour 
old  Wayback  folks  amongst  your  hearers — the 
McVeys." 

"  Oh,  ah  !  Superior  people,  I  judge  —  decidedly 
superior." 

"  Mis  McVey  —  dooz  she  seem  to  take  a  holt, 
good  ?  " 


PASTORAL    VISIT.  393 

"  A  Laodicean,  brother  —  a  Laodicean,  blowing 
neither  cold  nor  hot.  Now  the  daughter,  Mar 
garet  —  ah,  brother,  that  is  a  blessed  soul !  My 
pet  lamb  of  the  flock  !  " 

"  Haow  abaout  the  boy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  as  to  him  ;  we  must  only  hope  for  the 
best." 

"  Old  story  I  s'pose  —  girl  a  lamb  and  boy  a 
limb." 

"  No,  no,  brother.  I  should  hardly  call  Philip 
McVey  a  limb  —  only  a  brand  to  be,  in  God's  good 
time,  snatched  from  the  burning." 

"  The  mother  you  c'nsider  as  a  —  superior  lady 
you  say." 

44  Decidedly  so.  In  fact,  so  highly  superior  that 
I  have  hesitated  to  assume  full  pastoral  relations 
so  far  as  to  make  a  pointed  effort  to  care  for  her 
soul's  welfare.  But  I  have  determined  to  post 
pone  the  good  work  no  longer.  I  am  glad  that 
your  expressions  of  interest  in  them  have  recalled 
me  to  a  sense  of  my  neglected  duties  —  shirked  — 
shrunk  from,  I  may  say;  for  which,  sir,  I  shall 
this  night,  before  I  sleep,  seek  pardon  at  the 
throne  —  pardon  and  renewed  strength." 

Then  they  parted ;  the  good  man,  though  poor 
preacher,  getting  more  comfort  and  consolation 
than  he  could  have  explained,  by  the  sharp  fault 
finding  bestowed  by  Zury  upon  his  troublesome 
congregation. 

Zury,  too,  was  a  little  comforted  by  hearing  how 
consistently  Anne  was  holding  her  own  against 
the  rest  of  the  world.  He  was  riot  the  only  man 


394  ZURY, 

baffled  by  her  cool  intellectual  superiority !  He 
was  very  far  from  envying  brother  Kizer  his  task 
of  approaching  her  regarding  the  state  of  her  soul. 

On  the  next  day  Zury  went  home;  and  that 
same  night  the  good  pastor  nerved  himself  for  the 
effort  to  do  his  duty  by  his  fair  parishioner.  He 
called  and  was  received  with  a  mingled  cordiality 
and  reserve  which  made  him  tremble  in  his  shoes, 
although  nerved  by  a  stern  sense  of  duty  and  re 
sponsibility.  Meg's  more  humble  greeting  was 
slightly  reassuring;  but  Phil's  did  not  help  him. 
Anne  was  sewing  by  one  lamp,  while  her  children 
were  studying  by  another  at  a  little  distance. 

44  Sister  McVey,  will  you  join  me  in  prayer?" 

Anne  was  taken  aback,  and  an  awkward  pause 
ensued,  broken  by  an  ominous  snort  of  suppressed 
mirth  from  Phil,  which  was  partially  disguised  by 
the  hurried  application  and  vigorous  use  of  his 
handkerchief. 

44 1  beg  pardon,  Mr.  Kizer  ;  but  I  —  have  never 
been  accustomed  to  pray  in  public." 

44  True,  sister ;  you  have  Scripture  authority  for 
closet  devotions,  but  this  surely  does  not  exclude 
more  public  addresses  to  heaven." 

Anne  could  scarcely  forbid  the  old  gentleman 
to  do  as  he  chose  ;  so  he  kneeled  down,  while 
Anne  rested  her  forehead  in  her  hand,  Meg  kneeled, 
and  Phil  left  the  room.  Brother  Kizer  4t  wrestled  " 
long  and  fervently,  with  a  direct  personal  refer 
ence  that  at  first  made  Anne  angry;  but  fortu 
nately  the  exercise  was  so  protracted  that  she 
had  time  to  recover  from  the  insulted  feeling 


PASTORAL   VISIT.  395 

it  aroused,  and  to  recognize  and  do  justice  to 
the  worthy,  humble,  self-sacrificing  motive  that 
prompted  the  act. 

Afterward,  the  minister  read  a  chapter  from 
the  Bible,  and  ventured  upon  some  pastoral  ques 
tions  and  exhortations  which  Anne  sustained  with 
what  grace  she  could  command.  Later,  Mr.  Kizer 
fell  into  a  more  worldly  tone,  and  Anne,  animated 
by  a  womanly  desire  to  avoid  giving  pain  to  an 
estimable  old  man  doing  his  duty  according  to 
his  conscience,  exerted  herself  to  please  her  guest 
and  to  remove  any  feeling  of  having  been  repelled 
and  rebuffed  in  the  main  object  of  his  visit.  In 
such  an  effort  she  was  certain  never  to  fail.  So 
they  parted  smiling  friends;  and  the  minister  was 
able  to  give  a  fairly  prosperous  picture  of  the 
visit  in  answer  to  the  pressing  questions  of  his 
wife,  who  was,  of  course,  curious  as  to  Anne's  man 
ner  of  conducting  herself.  (She  was  "  his  third," 
and  much  younger  than  her  husband.) 

"  Well,  no ;  I  cannot  say  that  she  made  any 
professions  of  a  conviction  of  sin  ;  but  she  showed 
a  most  intelligent  interest  in  the  church  work  — 
especially  in  the  charitable  work." 

"  Well,  no  ;  I  do  not  remember  her  using  any 
expressions  indicating  a  desire  for  a  change  of 
heart ;  but  she  seemed  to  sympathize  in  the  obser 
vations  I  threw  out  regarding  what  seem  to  me 
the  failings  and  short-comings  of  my  congrega 
tion.  She  greatly  enjoyed  my  repetition  of  brother 


396  ZURY. 

Provider's  remarks  on  the  usual  relations  of  pastor 
and  people  —  received  them  with  a  relish  that 
was  extremely  refreshing.  Our  laughter  at  his 
homely  illustrations  went  to  the  verge  of  —  hi 
larity  ;  I  really  hope  that  no  one  of  the  good  dea 
cons  happened  to  be  passing  by  in  the  street,  and 
recognized  my  voice  !  " 

44  Well,  no;  she  did /not  accept  my  suggestion 
regarding  your  Dorcas  society  ;  giving  as  a  reason, 
her  extreme  preoccupation  in  the  business  where 
in  she  is  at  present  engaged ;  but  she  inquired 
with  the  most  particular  kindness  after  you,  and 
each  of  our  children.  She  has  heard  of  them 
through  dear  Margaret." 

44  Well,  yes ;  I  should  say  she  enjoys  a  most 
abiding  hope  of  salvation  —  amounting,  perhaps, 
to  an  over-confidence." 

44  Well,  yes ;  I  shall  persevere,  perhaps  with 
more  fervor  than  if  I  felt  more  certain  regarding 
the  state  of  her  soul.  You  know  there  is  more 
joy  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth  than  over  many 
that  have  no  need  of  repentance.  Yes,  on  the 
whole,  I  think  that  I  shall  repeat  the  visit  soon ; 
very  soon  indeed,  and  with  frequency." 

To  the  last  observation  the  worthy  Mrs.  Kizer 
did  not  make  any  audible  reply ;  but  it  is  vio 
lating  no  confidence  to  say  that  if  her  response 
had  been  audible,  it  would  have  been  short  and 
impressive,  and  in  these  words:  — 

"  Oh,  you  will,  will  you  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXL 

ZURY  IN  THE  LEGISLATURE  AND  OUT  OF  IT. 

ZURY  had  attended  church  conferences.  He 
had  also  attended  town-meetings.  The  General 
Assembly  of  the  State  of  Illinois  did  not  resemble 
a  church  conference :  what  it  was  like  was  a  pro 
longed,  exaggerated,  disorderly  town-meeting. 

An  army  of  spittoons,  each  serving  as  the  mere 
pretense  of  a  target  for  tobacco-juice :  an  army 
of  wire-woven  waste-baskets  jammed  with  the 
detritus  of  inchoate  legislation  ;  an  army  of  desks 
whereof  the  chief  office  was  the  upholding  of  an 
army  of  boots,  over  the  tops  of  which  an  army 
of  politicians  could  insolently  disregard  their  busi 
ness  and  defy  order  and  public  decency.  Such 
was  the  Illinois  legislature  in  those  days. 

Our  friend  had  been  elected  as  an  independent, 
so  there  was  a  desperate  effort  made  by  each  of 
the  party  caucuses  to  rope  him  into  its  fold.  His 
first  tactical  error  was  the  announcement  that  he 
would  not  go  into  either  caucus  ;  this  united  them 
all  against  him.  He  should  have  encouraged  each 
to  hope  on,  hope  ever,  for  his  final  adherence. 
The  only  thing  opposing  party  caucuses  can  agree 
on  is  a  common  war  against  a  common  enemy. 

He  was  consulted,  pro  forma,  as  to  what  com 
mittees  he  would  like  to  be  appointed  to. 


398  ZURY. 

"  I  'd  be  willin'  t'  serve  on  Agriculture  'n' 
Drainage,  ef  I  c'd  also  hev  a  show  on  Appro 
priations  'n'  Bankin'  'n'  Currency.  I  'm  told 
them  's  th'  ones  that  controls  legislation  'baout  's 
heavy  's  any." 

He  listened  eagerly  as  the  committees  were 
announced.  All  the  leading  ones  passed  without 
" Prouder  of  Spring"  on  their  lists.  At  last 
" Library"  was  reached,  and  Zury  caught  the 
sound  of  his  name,  also  of  a  half -suppressed 
titter  following  it.  But  the  worst  was  to  come. 
"  Geology  and  Science,"  "  Chairman  :  Prouder  of 
Spring,"  was  greeted  with  an  irrepressible  roar. 
This  committee  was  the  butt  of  boorish  jokers. 
To  turn  a  matter  to  ridicule  the  favorite  expedient 
was  to  have  it  referred  to  the  Committee  on  Geol 
ogy  and  Science.  Suppose  some  tobacco  -  hater 
offered  a  resolution  looking  to  the  enforcement  of 
the  rule  against  smoking  during  the  sessions. 
Instantly  from  all  sides  arose  the  cry,  "Refer  to 
Committee  on  Geology  and  Science  !  "  "  Geology 
and  Science !  "  "  Geology  and  Science  !  "  Reso 
lution  of  inquiry  as  to  alleged  attempt  to  bribe  a 
member.  "  Geology  and  Science !  "  Resolution 
forbidding  members  to  accept  or  use  railroad  or 
steamboat  passes.  "Geology  and  Science!" 
Inquiry  as  to  what  articles  have  been  supplied  to 
members  and  charged  under  head  of  stationery. 
"  Geology  and  Science."  Bill  to  regulate  the 
elective  franchise  and  secure  purity  in  elections. 
"  Geology  and  Science." 

Luckily  the  hard-headed  Zury  could  stand  ridi- 


IN  THE  LEGISLATURE  AND  OUT  OF  IT.    399 

cule  and  persecution  better  than  most  men.  His 
face  fell  into  its  cut-stone  shape  and  he  bided  his 
time.  His  sorest  trial  came  when  he  first  thought 
it  incumbent  on  him  to  address  the  House.  He 
knew  what  he  wanted  to  say,  in  a  general  way,  and 
pondered  over  it  long  and  hard.  How  he  longed  for 
even  an  hour  with  the  accomplished  Anne  Sparrow 
McVey  !  He  would  have  risked  a  trip  to  Spring- 
ville  —  but  she  had  let  him  know  distinctly  enough 
that  he  would  not  be  received.  Besides,  was  he, 
a  full-grown  man,  ready  to  acknowledge  that  he 
could  not  hoe  his  row  without  her  help  ?  Scarcely. 

His  old  good  luck  deserted  him  in  these  novel 
circumstances,  and  he  met  with  a  disaster  ;  thus. 
Remembering  the  kind  of  drill  or  training  he  had 
enjoyed  under  Anne's  guidance,  he  tried  to  imi 
tate  it,  by  actual  practice  of  his  proposed  speech. 
In  the  supposed  solitude  of  some  woods  within 
easy  walk  of  the  Capitol,  he  went  over  the  whole 
matter,  aloud,  alone. 

41  Mr.  Speaker :  A  resolution  inquirin'  what 
articles  hev  ben  furnished  to  members  as  station 
ery,  hez  ben  referred  to  th'  C'mitty  on  Geology 
and  Science.  Naow  I  dunno  's  givin'  a  name  to  a 
c'mitty  putts  any  fence  'raound  such  c'mitty,  ner 
any  fetters  on  its  actions.  Th'  c'mitty,  sence  I 
hed  th'  honor  t'  be  made  its  chairman,  hain't  hed 
no  geology  ner  no  science  referred  tew  it.  It 's 
time  ain't  no  ways  took  up  with  th'  baowels  o'  th' 
y earth,  ner  the  course  o'  scientific  1'arnin'  in  th' 
mind  o'  mankind.  Therefore  th'  said  c'mitty  hez 
acted  on  th'  said  res'lution  regardin'  stationery." 
And  so  forth. 


400  ZURY. 

Now  it  so  happens  that  apparent  solitude  is  not 
always  real  solitude.  By  an  unfortunate  chance 
some  one  heard  the  rehearsal  of  Zury's  maiden 
effort  and  told  it  to  some  of  bis  legislative 
brethren.  His  enemies  —  that  is  to  say  nine- 
tenths  of  the  whole  assembly  —  laughed  at  the 
tale  and  lay  in  wait  for  the  unlucky  Prouder  of 
Spring. 

After  organization  was  complete  and  an  order  of 
business  agreed  upon  for  every  day  in  the  week, 
the  "call  of  committees  "  had  its  place  in  the  cal 
endar,  and  in  course  of  events  the  Committee  on 
Geology  and  Science  was  called  upon  and  its 
chairman  arose.  To  his  astonishment  and  em- 
barrasment,  Zury  found  himself  greeted  with 
loud  and  long-continued  applause. 

"  Mr.  Speaker :  "  (more  and  longer  applause.) 
"  A  resolution  inquirin'  what  articles  hev  ben  fur 
nished  to  members,  "  (again  stamping  and  clap- 
ing  resound  and  interrupt :)  "and  charged  to  sta 
tionery  account." 

Vociferous  demonstrations  of  ironical  approval 
here  put  an  end  to  all  proceedings,  and  continue 
until  a  member  arises,  presumably  to  restore  order. 
Catching  the  speaker's  eye  he  begins. 

"  Mr.  Speaker  :  I  dunno  's  givin'  a  name  tew  a 
c'mitty  putts  any  fence  Vaound  sech  c'mitty. 
Jes'  look  at  it  wunst.  Fancy  aour  respected 
C'mitty  on  Geology  V  Science  a  pursuin'  its  re 
searches  intew  geology  'n'  science,  inside  a  pen, 
surraounded  by  a  legle  fence,  eight-rail,  stake-'n'- 
rider,  hawg-tight,  bull-strong,  'n'  stud-hoss  high." 


IN  THE  LEGISLATURE  AND  OUT  OF  IT.    401 

Roars  of  laughter  here  broke  in  and  continued 
until  it  seemed  to  poor  Zury  as  if  it  would  never 
stop,  though  he  bravely  kept  his  feet. 

Another  member  jumped  up  and  caught  the 
speaker's  eye,  and  the  House  paused  to  listen. 

"Mr.  Speaker:  The  C'mitty  on  Geology  V 
Science,  sence  th'  onnable  member  from  Spring 
became  its  chairman,  hain't  bed  no  geology  ner  no 
science  referred  tew  it,  consekently  it  hain't  hed 
no  'casion  t'  c'rect  the  baowels  o'  th'  yarth  with 
cathartic  pills,  salts  V  senna,  calomel  'n'  jollop, 
ner  otherwise.  Th'  operations  of  Nature  hev  hed 
t'  go  on  withaout."  (More  shouts,  howls,  and 
shrieks  of  laughter.)  "  Ner  yet  hev  I  heerd  that 
the  said  c'mitty  hez  ben  called  upon  t'  teach  th' 
scientific  world  haow  t'  scient." 

Zury  now  gave  in  and  sat  down,  and  the  assem 
bly  finished  its  frolic  by  recommitting  the  resolu 
tion,  with  power  to  the  committee  to  send  for  par 
egoric,  opodeldoc,  and  syrup  of  squills  ;  all  to  be 
charged  to  stationery  account. 

Three  or  four  of  the  better  class  of  members 
took  occasion  to  greet  Zury  kindly,  and  urge  him 
not  to  take  to  heart  the  boys'  joking. 

"  Who  —  me  ?  I  hain't  no  idee  o'  taking  noth'n' 
t'  heart,  ner  a-carin'  one  soumarkee  what  the'  sez 
er  dooz.  The  whelps  !  I  '11  fetch  'em  t'  book. 
The'  got  t'  go  on  the  record,  right  on  that  very 
p'int  —  the  stationery  steal." 

But  he  was  very  much  mortified.  No  check  he 
had  ever  met  with  had  been  so  humiliating.  He 
had  one  comfort —  Anne  did  not  see  the  defeat, 


402  ZURY. 

and  would  probably  never  hear  of  it,  as  such 
scenes  did  not  get  "spread  upon  the  records,"  nor 
were  they,  in  those  days  of  imperfect  journalism, 
set  forth  in  the  public  prints. 

The  next  time  his  committee  was  called,  he 
rose  calmly,  waited  in  perfect  composure  and 
stood  unmoved  until  the  ironical  applause  died 
away. 

"  Mr.  Speaker :  The  C'mitty  on  Geology  and 
Science  directs  me  t'  report  progress  on  the  reso 
lution  referred  to  it  inquirin'  regardin'  the  dispo 
sition  of  th'  stationery  appropriation." 

Here  the  storm  broke  out  afresh  and  continued 
until  its  instigators  were  weary  and  sought  for 
some  more  effectual  way  to  "squelch"  the  irre 
pressible  member  from  Spring,  who  stood  there  in 
an  attitude  which  said  plainly,  "  I  can  stand  it  as 
long  as  you  can,  and  a  little  longer."  Then  one 
Gunnitt,  a  burly  giant  (slightly  exhilarated  with 
whiskey)  came  quietly  behind  Zury,  and  lifting 
high  one  of  the  wire-work  waste-baskets,  half  full 
of  scraps  of  paper,  inverted  it  and  jammed  it 
down  over  the  head  of  the  would-be  reformer. 

Instantly  Zury  seized  him  by  the  throat.  In 
another  moment  he  had  him  down  on  his  back  in 
the  aisle,  and  was  pounding  the  floor  with  his 
head  until  it  seemed  as  if  both  floor  and  skull 
must  be  broken.  Men  dragged  Zury  off  in  time 
to  save  Gunnitt's  life,  though  the  blood  streamed 
from  his  nose  and  mouth  as  he  was  helped  away. 

Zury  borrowed  a  pin  from  one  of  the  rescuers 
to  repair  his  collar  which  they  had  broken  in  pull- 


IN  THE  LEGISLATURE  AND  OUT  OF  IT.    403 

ing  him  back,  then  stepped  to  his  place  and  raised 
his  voice  again  in  the  now  quiet  hall. 

"  Mr.  Speaker  :  I  move  for  a  vote  of  censure 
on  the  member  from  Spring  Caounty,  and  I  move 
that  that  matter  be  referred  TO  THE  C'MITTY 
ON  GEOLOGY  AND  SCIENCE  ! " 

The  reference  was  carried  by  acclamation  which 
resolved  itself  into  wild  cheers  for  the  committee's 
indomitable  chairman.  Then  Zury  once  more 
took  the  floor. 

"  Mr.  Speaker :  Th'  C'mitty  on  Geology  and 
Science  —  But  before  I  proceed  with  that  c'mitty's 
report,  I  desire  to  accommodate  any  other  gentle 
man  who  may  want  to  suppress  that  report." 

Thereupon  he  took  his  own  waste-basket  and 
set  it  out  conspicuously  in  the  aisle. 

"  Thar.  Any  member  who  wants  t'  try  it  on, 
kin  have  th'  extinguisher  right  handy." 

A  new  roar  of  applause  greeted  this  liberal 
offer. 

"  Th'  c'mitty  d'recks  me  t'  report  progress  on 
this  h'yer  resolution,  and  requests  further  time 
on  it,  and  also  paower  t'  send  fer  persons  'n' 
papers." 

A  few  voted  with  him,  not  enough  to  carry  his 
motion.  Nor  did  a  sufficient  number  join  him 
even  to  have  the  yeas  and  nays  ordered,  whereby 
members  would  have  been  forced  to  express  them 
selves  by  name,  pro  and  con.  The  subject  was 
dropped :  but  no  further  stealage  from  the  sta 
tionery  fund  occurred  for  many  a  year.  The  cause 
triumphed  though  its  advocate  was  defeated. 


404  ZURY. 

It  was  inevitable  that  the  "  personal  difficulty  " 
between  Prouder  and  Gunnitt  should  be  settled 
in  some  way.  A  duel  was  out  of  the  question, 
because,  as  is  well  known,  dueling  in  Illinois  was 
stopped  at  once  and  forever  very  early  in  the 
State's  history,  when  the  survivor  of  a  fatal  duel 
was  tried,  convicted,  and,  in  spite  of  tremendous 
efforts  for  his  pardon,  actually  hanged  by  the  neck 
until  he  was  dead. 

In  a  day  or  two  some  of  Gunnitt's  friends  called 
on  Zury  with  a  view  to  patch  up  a  peace. 

"  Wai,  gentlemen,  I  've  heered  all  yew  Ve  hed 
t'  say,  V  I  'gree  with  ye  so  fur 's  this :  I  think 
the'  ought  t'  be  an  apology  passed.  So  I  'm  quite 
ready  t'  step  right  'raound  with  ye,  ef  brother 
Gunnitt  will  see  me ;  V  we  kin  settle  it  up  then 
V  thar." 

There  could  be  no  possible  objection  to  this 
reasonable  offer,  and  they  were  all  soon  in  Gun 
nitt's  room  at  the  Hotel.  The  sufferer 

received  them  with  an  unmistakable  expression  of 
astonishment  in  his  sadly  blackened  eyes.  Zury 
took  the  initiative. 

"  Brother  Gunnitt,  I  've  told  yer  friends  h'yer 
that  I  think  apologies  should  be  passed  regardin' 
aour  little  fraycus  ;  V  I  've  come  right  'raound  t' 
see  ye,  'n'  tell  ye  I  don't  bear  no  malice  ;  V  per- 
vidin'  ye  '11  jes'  'llaow  ye  're  sorry  ye  'ttacted  me 
th'  way  ye  did,  why  we  '11  shake  han's  on  it,  'n'  let 
bygones  be  bygones." 

The  others  were  taken  aback  by  this  unex 
pected  turn.  They  hastened  to  protest  that  they 


IN  THE  LEGISLATURE  AND  OUT  OF  IT.    405 

had  understood  that  the  member  from  Spring  was 
to  apologize  to  the  member  from  Bourbon. 

"Naow  gentlemen,  ye 're  a  workin'  agin  yer 
friend's  best  interests,  'n'  I  '11  prove  it  tew  ye. 
Fer  me  t'  'pologize  'd  be  t'  own  up  th't  I  wuz  th' 
aggressor.  Naow  haow  would  it  sound,  daown 
t'  Bourbon,  t'  'llaow  th't  Bourbon's  representative 
bed  ben  attacted  by  a  man  o'  my  size,  an'  arter 
bein'  laid  up  a  day  er  tew,  had  accepted  an  apol 
ogy  fer  th'  attack  ?  I  put  it  to  brother  Gunnitt 
himself,  ef  it  war  n't  th'  fack  th't  he  'ttacted  me, 
'n'  ef  it  won't  look  better,  tew  hum,  th't  he  did 
so,  'n'  arterwards  'pologized  handsome." 

Gunnitt  and  his  emissaries  here  retired  for  con 
sultation,  and  soon  returned  quite  of  Zury's  mind. 

"  Brother  Gunnitt  authorizes  us  to  say  that  the 
aggression  was  by  him,  and  was  unprovoked,  and 
that  he  regrets  having  been  led,  in  a  moment 
of  excitement,  to  act  as  he  did  toward  brother 
Prouder,  regardin'  whom  he  cherishes  sentiments 
of  distinguished  consideration." 

"  O.  K..  gentlemen.  I  'm  willin'  t'  fergive  V 
ferget,  'n'  h'yer  's  my  hand  on  it !  " 

This  happy  solution  gave  both  amusement  and 
satisfaction,  and  was  buzzed  about  legislative  cir 
cles  with  great  gusto.1 

1  The  wit  of  the  session  seized  upon  it  and  told  Gunnitt  that 
his  baptismal  name  ought  to  have  been  Uriah  Benton  :  —  U.  B. 
Gunnitt  would  then  have  told  the  story,  as  well  as  named  the 
hero  of  it.  This  jest  took  so  well  that  he  cast  about  for  other 
names  to  pun  upon  ;  and  finding  a  doorkeeper  named  Ender,  who 
was  hard  of  hearing,  he  dubbed  him  one  of  Illinois'  great  deaf 
enders.  Thenceforth  he  was  regarded  as  a  professional  joker ; 


406  ZURY. 

Zury's  career  from  the  start  was  a  vanishing 
illusion.  The  whole  power  of  the  body  was  vested 
in  the  "hold-over"  members  —  men  who  had  en 
joyed  the  training  of  a  previous  session.  They 
cut  out  the  work,  and  when  cut  out,  the  rest  could 
either  do  it  or  leave  it  alone.  They  perceived  that 
they  could  do  nothing  else.  And  it  is  almost  an 
axiom  that  an  independent,  a  man  without  a  party 
following,  can  never  effect  any  object,  however 
praiseworthy,  unless  it  be  as  a  "  balance  of  power." 

He  soon  observed  another  element  of  power  and 
leadership.  A  quiet,  knowing,  self-possessed,  re 
spectable  individual  would  come  on  the  scene, 
greeting  him  as  an  old  friend. 

"  Prouder  of  Spring,  I  believe !  I  am  glad  to 
see  you.  You  may  remember  my  name:  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  sending  you  a  pass  over  our  road. 

I  am  attorney  for  the and ,  and  want  the 

privilege  of  laying  a  little  matter  before  you  which 
we  think  will  benefit  the  public,  at  the  same  time 
that  it  may  relieve  us  from  some  hardships  we  Ve 
been  laboring  under." 

Shrewd  indeed  is  the  man  who  is  not  influenced, 
in  spite  of  himself,  by  these  well-prepared,  plaus 
ible  advocates —  "the  lobby." 

No  need  to  follow  Zury  through  his  term.  He 
did  not  try  any  more  "  speechifying,"  for  he  soon 

fun  was  expected  from  him  whenever  he  opened  his  mouth  ; 
laughter  greeted  his  most  serious  words ;  and  as  a  result  his 
political  career  was  ruined.  So  do  men  deal  with  fun-makers; 
they  prize  them,  praise  them,  enjoy  them,  and  desert  them. 
Humor  is  a  fatal  gift  in  a  working  community. 


IN  THE  LEGISLATURE  AND  OUT  OF  IT.    407 

learned  that  in  a  legislature,  oratory  is  absolute 
delusion  and  humbug.  Nobody  is  convinced  by 
it  except  the  constituents  at  home  ;  and  the  only 
effect  of  it,  even  on  them,  is  a  conviction  that 
their  representative  is  "  some^pumpkins — kin 
hold  his  own  with  th'  best  on  'em."  When  the 
the  member  from  Buncombe  County  "  orates,"  he 
is  talking  for  Buncombe,  and  it  is  in  Buncombe 
only  that  he  seeks  and  finds  his  audience. 

Zury  put  it  thus  :  — 

"  A  member  o'  th'  legislatur,  he  kin  either  talk 
er  work  —  he  can't  dew  both.  It  oilers  reminds 
me  of  a  steamboat  th't  useter  run  on  Spring  River. 
The'  culled  her  the  "  Pooserpomponnuk,"  V  her 
name  kivered  her  side  from  stem  to  starn.  She 
hed  a  mighty  small  biler  'n'  a  mighty  big  whistle ; 
'n'  when  she  run  her  engine  she  could  n't  blow  her 
whistle  ;  'n'  quick  's  she  opened  her  whistle-valve, 
her  engine  stopped,  kerchunk  !  " 

So  he  became  what  is  known  as  a  "working 
member ; "  attended  strictly  to  business  in  his 
committees,  on  the  floor  and  outside,  and  so  ac 
quired  the  enviable  reputation  of  a  man  not  prone 
to  "  shooting  off  his  mouth." 

The  official  treatment  of  a  member  not  within 
the  clique  of  party  leaders,  old  legislators,  etc.,  is 
in  itself  mere  insolence.  Prouder  of  Spring  rises 
in  his  place,  knowing  himself  to  be  "  in  order  " 
and  possessed  of  as  good  a  claim  to  the  floor  as 
any  member  on  it. 

"  Mr.  Speaker  ! " 

Mr.  Speaker  looks  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  down 


408  ZURY. 

at  the  clerk's  desk,  or  anywhere  except  at  the 
person  addressing  him,  who  stands  impatiently 
awaiting  the  coveted  recognition,  "  The  member 
from  Spring."  Meanwhile  the  letter-writing  and 
reading,  the  chafter,  the  laughing,  the  clapping  of 
hands  for  the  pages'  attendance  goes  on  like  mad, 
just  as  if  this  were  "high  change"  in  an  open 
mart. 

"  Mr.  Speaker." 

Again  the  wandering  regard  takes  in  the  whole 
horizon  except  the  point  whence  the  words  come. 
At  last  Mr.  Speaker  seems  to  be  looking  directly 
at  Zury ;  when  lo,  a  voice  from  a  seat  behind  him 
breaks  the  silence. 

"  Mr.  Speaker." 

"  The  member  from  Massac,"  promptly  re 
sponds  the  speaker  ;  and  the  member  from  Spring 
subsides.  He  has  no  remedy.  The  presiding 
officer  reckons  humanity  by  number,  not  by 
weight.  The  strongest  man  is  he  who  has  the 
dominant  party  to  back  him  ;  the  next  strongest 
is  he  who  has  the  subdominant ;  the  weakest,  he 
who  has  so  much  strength,  virtue,  and  courage 
that  he  stands  alone. 

"  I  say,  Crumbacker,  why  can't  you  never  see 
ner  hear  me  ?  I  'm  a  goin'  t'  buy  a  stepladder 
and  a  speakin'  trumpet,  but  what  I  '11  be  rec 
ognized  !  " 

"  Oh,  Prouder  —  this  morning  you  mean?  I 
was  sorry,  and  I  owe  you  an  apology ;  but  you 
see  it  was  fixed  that  Whacker  was  to  speak,  and 
I'd  fallen  in  with  it;  so  what  could  I  do?  No 


IN  THE  LEGISLATURE  AND  OUT  OF  IT.    409 

danger  but  what  you'  11  be  heard  !  I  Ve  known 
that  ever  since  you  got  away  with  Gunnitt  of 
Bourbon !  Some  men  I  might  hesitate  to  set 
back  for  fear  of  squelching  'em  ;  but  not  you, 
Prouder,  not  you  !  " 

"  Wai,  'nough  said  on  that  head  ;  naow  I  want 
to  fix  it  fer  my  turn." 

"  Let's  see;  how  would  Saturday  suit  you?" 

"  O.  K.  Make  it  Saturday."  And  Mr.  Speaker 
makes  an  entry  in  his  pocket  diary. 

It  was  not  for  some  days  that  Zury  learned  that 
it  had  also  been  "  fixed  "  to  adjourn  from  Friday 
to  Monday. 

At  last  came  the  day  long  agreed  upon  for  final 
adjournment.  The  closing  session  is  an  elastic 
occasion.  Though  the  day  is  appointed  by  joint 
resolution,  and  therefore  absolutely  binding  on 
both  branches  of  the  legislature,  yet  a  session 
begun  on  that  day  is  still  that  day's  session,  no 
matter  how  long  past  midnight  it  may  endure. 

The  hour  of  opening  arrives.  The  speaker 
raps  the  House  to  order,  and  the  chaplain  puts  up 
his  little  prayer.  Half  a  dozen  members  stand 
devoutly  during  the  prayer ;  the  rest  hurry  to 
their  desks,  their  hands  crowded  with  the  pet 
measures  which  they  have  failed  to  carry  during 
the  earlier  part  of  the  session.  Each  is  resolved 
to  "put  through  "  one  or  more  during  these  closing 
hours,  and  awaits  the  signal  gun. 

"  Amen." 

Instantly  it  is  as  if  bedlam  had  broken  loose  in 
Pandemonium.  The  pool  is  troubled :  the  man 


410  ZURY. 

who  dips  in  first  hopes  to  be  healed.  The  intent- 
ness  of  all  baffles  the  purpose  of  each.  Hour  after 
hour  the  uproar  goes  on.  Both  houses  are  in  ses 
sion,  so  that  half-completed  bills  may  be  sent  from 
one  to  the  other,  and  the  governor  occupies  his 
room  near  by  to  sign  them  as  they  are  sent  to  him, 
wanting  only  his  approval  to  become  law. 

Now  the  lieutenant-governor  (chairman  of  the 
upper  house)  and  the  speaker  of  the  lower  house 
have  everything  in  their  own  hands.  They  rush 
things  through  in  the  hubbub,  no  one  fully  know 
ing  what  they  are  about,  and  no  one  responsible 
for  most  of  what  is  done.  More  measures  are 
passed  than  have  been  enacted  in  all  the  rest  of 
the  session. 

Toward  the  close,  perhaps  in  broad  daylight  of 
the  following  morning,  members  lose  their  hopes 
of  securing  attention  to  their  personal  purposes, 
and  turn  their  efforts  toward  the  stoppage  of  all 
action.  Some  one  picks  up  an  envelope  of  loose 
papers  and  shies  it  over  the  heads  of  all  before 
him.  It  scatters  its  contents  as  it  flies,  and  finally 
lands,  perhaps  on  the  speaker's  desk  or  behind  it. 
Then  the  air  is  full  of  missiles ;  pamphlets,  news 
papers,  reports,  fall  like  snow-flakes.  At  last,  for 
some  occult  reason,  all  is  hushed  in  a  moment. 
Some  member  (not  of  the  speaker's  party)  moves 
a  vote  of  thanks  to  the  speaker  for  his  able,  im 
partial,  and  gentlemanly  conduct  as  their  presiding 
officer ;  and  it  is  carried  nem.  con.  Then  Mr. 
Speaker  returns  his  thanks  in  well-chosen  words, 
for  the  invariable  courtesy  which  has  made  his 


IN  THE  LEGISLATURE  AND  OUT  OF  IT.    411 

task  a  pleasure,  and  the  gentlemanly  deportment 
which  has  done  honor  to  each  of  the  members  of 
this  House  ;  and  the  House  ceases  to  exist. 

At  the  close  of  his  first  term,  Prouder  of  Spring 
naturally  found  it  necessary  to  stop  at  Spring- 
ville  on  his  way  home.  He  had  called  at  the 
warehouse  occasionally,  but  had  never  spoken  to 
Anne.  Now  he  thought  it  full  time  to  break  the 
embargo ;  so  with  unaccustomed  and  becoming 
diffidence  he  presented  himself  at  Anne's  desk. 
She  received  him  graciously.  Time  had  softened 
her  resentment  —  what  there  ever  was  of  it  —  and 
besides,  her  reserve  seemed  no  longer  necessary. 
"  Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind."  Any  too  warm  in 
terest  in  him  which  she  might  have  suspected  in 
her  lonely  heart,  arising  from  the  thought  of  the 
great  use  she  had  been  to  him,  and  he  to  her, 
had  cooled  and  disappeared  so  completely  that 
she  doubted  its  ever  having  existed. 

"  Good  morning,  Mis  McVey.  My  two  years 
is  up,  I  guess  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed !  It  ought  to  be  by  this  time. 
At  any  rate  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  What  kind  of 
time  have  you  had  in  the  legislature?  " 

44  Wai,  kinder  mixed.  I  guess  they  must  have 
found  me  out,  as  the  boy  said." 

44  Found  you  out?" 

44  Yes  ;  found  out  that  though  they  elected  you 
to  go,  it  was  only  me  that  got  thar  after  all." 

44  Oh,  pshaw  !  You  were  elected,  because  you 
ought  to  be ;  and  you  went  because  you  were 
elected ;  and  I  suppose  you  had  all  the  success 
you  deserved." 


412  ZURY. 

44  Yes,  that's  the  trouble  ;  just  that  much  and 
no  more." 

44  Were  n't  you  successful?" 

"  Wai,  that  remains  to  be  proved.  The  jury  's 
got  the  evidence  and  they  've  got  to  give  the  ver 
dict." 

"What  jury." 

"  Why,  th'  electors  o'  Spring  Caounty.  If  they 
send  me  agin,  next  term,  it  '11  look  like  I  was,  any- 
haow,  half-way  successful." 

"  I  fancy  you  had  a  very  satisfactory  experience. 
Otherwise  you  would  n't  care  to  go  back." 

44  Oh,  ye  see,  its  this-a-way.  Politics  is  like 
sheep-ticks,  hard  to  get  shet  of  when  once  they  've 
got  a  holt.  A  politician  's  like  the  circusman's 
4  fabled  Pollypethicus,  that  can't  live  on  land  and 
dies  in  the  water.'  If  he  has  done  well,  he  wants 
a  reelection  as  an  indorsement ;  an'  if  he  's  made 
a  blame  fool  of  himself  he  wants  it  bad,  as  a 
vindication." 

"  And  you  want  to  go  back  —  how  ?  " 

44 1  guess  I  want  to  go  back  bad,  if  anyway." 

44  Well,  I  hope  you  '11  succeed." 

44  'Fraid  I  can't  git  t'  have  your  help  this  time. 
Mary  she  don't  leave  home  any  more.  Got  some 
kind  of  a  falling  sickness  —  first  thing  she  knows 
she  don't  know  nothing,  and  has  to  be  picked  up." 

44  I  heard  she  had  had  some  bad  turns." 

44  Yes  —  worst  kind.  I  wish  she  'd  get  well  or  — 
something  ;  jest  for  her  own  sake.  Because  you 
see  she  can't  bear  to  see  anybody,  nor  to  have 
anybody  see  her.  Cur'ous,  too  —  she  never  used 


IN  THE  LEGISLATURE  AND  OUT  OF  IT.    413 

t'  be  so  praoud.  Looks  's  though  sickness  had 
made  her  kind  o'  —  simple." 

"  I  'm  very  sorry  to  hear  it ! " 

"  Oh,  it  makes  it  bad!" 

Then,  after  a  little  pause,  he  added,  "  Ye  know 
ye  owe  me  the  continuation  of  the  wall  -  paper 
story  yet." 

"  Dear  me  !  How  a  few  indiscreet  words  may 
lead  to  a  life-time  of  remorse !  " 

"  Remorse  ?  Wai,  ef  you  repent  and  make  res 
titution  your  remorse  will  be  cured  !  " 

"  Will  it  ?  I  never  tried  that  remedy.  Well, 
I  '11  surely  keep  my  promise  before  I  die." 

"  O.  K.  You  're  a  woman  of  your  word;  so  all 
I  've  got  to  do  is  to  be  sure  'n'  outlive  you."  (An 
other  pause.)  "  I  don't  s'pose  you  'd  care  to  — 
make  another  trip  to  Wayback." 

"  No.  Phil  is  a  fireman,  now,  and  only  at  home 
every  other  night.  I  could  n't  leave  Meg  alone 
the  nights  he  's  away." 

"  She  might  go  along." 

"  That  would  leave  an  empty  house  the  nights 
he  spends  at  home.  No.  I  must  give  up  all 
thoughts  of  repeating  that  delightful  experience. 
But  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

She  heaved  a  little  sigh,  and  both  were  silent 
for  a  while. 

"Wai!  So  it  goes!"  And  with  a  cordial 
hand-shake  they  parted.  He  went  straight  to  the 
partners  and  opened  the  subject  of  Anne's  salary, 
as  if  he  had  just  had  a  most  serious  conference 
with  her  on  that  matter.  The  direct  consequence 


414  ZURY. 

of  the  talk  was  an  important  and  welcome  ad 
vance,  whereof  she  received  the  first  intimation 
on  the  following  day  when  Zury  was  gone  home. 
She  had  enough  presence  of  mind  to  suppress  the 
surprise  she  felt,  and  receive  their  remarks  on  the 
matter  with  dignified  reserve. 

"  You  must  n't  blame  us,  Mrs.  McVey.  If  you 
had  spoke  of  the  matter  we  would  have  tried  to 
have  made  it  satisfactory.  But  you  could  n't  ex 
pect  us  to  open  up  the  subject,  now  could  you?" 

"  Well,  perhaps  not." 

44  We  will  try  to  make  it  so  you  don't  lose  no 
thing  by  the  delay.  The  advance  we  name  is 
really  larger  than  we  should  feel  called  upon  to 
pay,  if  it  was  n't,  as  Mr.  Prouder  remarked,  some 
what  your  due  from  being  delayed  till  now." 

44  Very  well.     It  is  all  right  now,  at  any  rate." 

44  Perfectly  satisfactory  ?  " 

44  Perfectly." 

How  her  heart  glowed  as  she  walked  home  and 
gave  her  children  the  good  news !  But  she  did 
not  mention  Mr.  Prouder 's  agency  in  the  matter. 

Zury  was  reflected.  He  found  his  campaign 
unexpectedly  easy.  It  was  not  words  this  time 
that  prevailed,  although  with  words  he  was  much 
better  supplied  than  of  old.  It  was  his  44  record  " 
in  the  legislature.  What  part  of  his  record? 
About  a  minute  of  it  —  that  minute  when  he  did 
not  really  know  what  he  was  doing ;  when  the 
hall  was  resounding  with  the  eloquent  thuds  of 
Gunnitt's  head  on  the  floor  of  the  aisle. 


CHAPTER  XXIT. 

MAN  PROPOSES;  WOMAN  DISPOSES. 

"  GOOD-DAY,  Mis  McVey !  Inkin'  up  the  big 
books  same  as  ever,  I  see !  " 

"  Yes,  they  are  not  worth  much  until  I  have 
ornamented  them  with  my  pen-and-ink  sketches. 
How  did  you  leave  Mrs.  Prouder  ?  " 

"  Oh,  least  said  soonest  mended.  Ye  would  n't 
believe  it,  but  I  've  had  to  git  another  woman  to 
look  out  for  things,  besides  S'manthy  V  Alphy ! 
For  takin'  care  o'  the  house  an'  feedin'  the  hands 
they  were  O.  K.,  but  when  it  came  to  pickin'  up 
Flory  —  mebby  jest  when  the  hands  was  a-feed- 
in'  — !  Ye  knows  he  ain't  the  build  to  pick  up  as 
ye  would  a  box  o'  matches !  " 

"  Her  illness  has  not  made  her  thin  ?  " 

"N-o-o-ot  a  bit  of  it!  I  told  'em  all  to  keep 
it  a  secret  about  the  additional  help  —  not  to  let 
on  to  Flory  what  was  the  trouble.  She  don't  seem 
to  suspicion  nothin'  about  it.  It  would  hurt  her 
feelin's." 

"  I  should  think  she  would  be  gratified  to  feel 
that  you  took  such  tender  care  of  her." 

"Nary!  She'd  jest  fret  herself  to  death  to 
think  o'  bein'  no  more  use  in  the  world.  She  was 
always  right  on  it  fer  work,  accordin'  to  her 


416  ZURY. 

powers.  But  laws !  None  of  the  three  daughters 
was  ever  a  touch  to  their  mother." 

"  Such  a  worker  ?  " 

" /believe  yer !  When  o'  man  Peddicomb  come 
to  his  land,  shortly  after  we  come  to  ours,  she  was 
wuth  more  onto  th'  place  than  what  he  was.  She 
—  why  she  was  one  of  these  4  come  gals '  kind  of 
women.  An'  I  don't  expect  ye  know  what  that 
means,  neither." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  learned  that  story  when  I  lived 
there."  (She  did  not  mention  that  it  formed  one 
of  the  "  sketches "  she  had  jotted  down  in  that 
school-house  winter.)  "  I  guess  she  did  n't  live 
long  at  that  rate  !  " 

"  No,  but  she  did  more  work  than  some  women 
do  in  twice  the  time." 

"  Perhaps  she  'd  have  lived  longer  if  she  had 
n't  done  so  much." 

"  Like  enough.  But  that 's  the  kind  of  a  wife 
for  a  poor  farmer  to  start  in  with.  Peddicomb 
would  n't  never  have  kept  his  three-quarter  sec 
tions  if  it  had  n't  a  ben  for  her." 

"  All  the  same  I  don't  think  the  game  was 
worth  the  candle." 

"  Game  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  mean  that  the  outcome  did  n't  pay  for 
the  sacrifice." 

"Fine  farm,  the  Peddicomb  farm  is." 

"  Yes,  a  fine  farm,  in  another  man's  hands. 
Her  own  life  sacrificed,  one  daughter  dead,  another 
a  hopeless  invalid,  and  another,  with  her  child,  a 
poor  dependent." 


MAN  PROPOSES;    WOMAN  DISPOSES.     417 

"Dunno  but  ye 're  right."  And  Zury  pondered 
on  the  new  thoughts  thus  suggested. 

"  Poor  Flora  !  And  now  you  have  to  be  away, 
too ! " 

"  Yes ;  this  is  my  last  session,  though." 

"  All  your  ambition  gratified  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  got  my  indorsement  by  my  re 
election." 

"  And  now  you  wish  you  had  n't  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly ;  you  know  I  'm  one  of  the  hold 
overs  now,  so  it 's  my  turn  t'  impose  on  the  green 
members ! " 

"  That  suits  you,  I  'm  sure  !  " 

"  Well,  partially.  But  I  've  got  no  party  to 
back  me." 

"  So  your  hands  are  tied  ?  " 

"  Not  entirely,  there  's  a  United  States  senator 
to  be  elected  this  session,  an'  my  vote  will  elect 
him  ;  the  balance  things  is  teterin'  on  jest  now  !  " 

"  I  should  think  that  would  give  you  all  you 
chose  to  ask." 

"  It  would  —  in  promises  —  only  for  one  thing : 
my  vote  ain't  for  sale." 

"  Dear  me !  You  make  my  head  swim  with 
your  contradictions !  It 's  like  the  old  story  of 
Hans  in  luck,  everything  is  met  and  offset  by 
something  just  the  contrary  !  " 

"  The  way  of  the  world.  Give  an'  take.  Loss 
an'  gain.  Nothin'  ain't  never  quite  so  good  nor 
quite  so  bad  as  you  look  for  it  to  be." 

"  Who  are  going  to  be  the  prominent  candi 
dates  for  senator  ?  " 


418  ZURY. 

"  Oh,  of  course  Blue  on  the  Whig  side,  an' 
Green  on  the  Democratic  side." 

"  Which  do  you  prefer?" 

"  I  don't  give  a  cent  to  choose  between  'em  ! 
Party  backs  both  of  'em.  Either  one  would  prom 
ise  to  make  me  judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  United  States,  if  I  'd  vote  for  him !  Yes,  an' 
if  he  had  the  power  he'd  give  me  the  appoint 
ment,  too ;  'n'  me  jest  as  fit  for  it  as  Satan's  back 
parlor  is  for  a  powder-house !  " 

"  How  shall  you  vote  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  a  man  I  think  fit,  who  has  n't  offered 
me  anything,  directly  or  indirectly,  and  who 
would  n't  put  me  in  a  place  I  was  not  fit  for,  not  if 
I  could  make  him  president.  Same  time,  he  might 
help  me  politically.  I'm  not  naming  the  man." 

"  Not  even  to  me  ?  " 

"  Well  "  —  smiling  —  "  that  is  different,  of 
course."  And  he  took  a  pencil  from  her  hand, 
wrote  a  name  on  a  bit  of  paper,  showed  it  to  her, 
and  then  tore  it  to  fragments.  "  I  '11  write  to  you 
all  about  it  when  the  time  comes." 

Anne  flushed  arid  smiled  in  gratification  at  the 
confidence,  then,  as  one  of  the  ubiquitous  race  of 
reporters  who  had  been  standing  near,  awaiting 
his  opportunity,  approached  them  with  "  inter 
view  "  legible  in  his  eye,  she  gave  Zury  her  hand 
and  he  bade  her  good-bye  and  walked  off  with  the 
intruder. 

She  was  sadly  cut  down  at  seeing  in  next  day's 
"  Springville  Bugle "  a  paragraph  to  the  effect 
that  "  our  member  "  had  passed  through  town  the 


MAN  PROPOSES;    WOMAN  DISPOSES.     419 

day  before,  and  had  shown  himself  remarkably 
close-mouthed  on  the  senatorial  question,  but  the 
Bugle,  with  its  customary  enterprise,  had  ascer 
tained,  from  a  reliable  source,  that  the  first  choice 
of  Prouder  of  Spring  would  be  Judge  Grey. 

"  Well !  What  a  fool  I  was !  He  went  straight 
from  me  and  gave  the  name  to  that  reporter !  " 

Zury,  likewise,  was  dreadfully  taken  aback  at 
the  sight  of  that  same  paragraph. 

"  How  she  fooled  me !  Or  I  fooled  myself ! 
She  went  right  off  an'  told  th'  fust  feller  that 
asked  her !  Mebby  him  'n'  her  was  fast  friends 
a'  ready  ! "  And  anguish  marked  Zury  for  its  own. 

The  election  of  senator  is  the  first  business  of 
the  legislature  having  it  in  charge.  On  the  very 
day  when  the  contest  began,  the  news  came  that 
Mrs.  Prouder  had  died,  with  the  suddenness  inci 
dent  to  her  disease.  The  gravity  of  the  legisla 
tive  crisis  made  it  improper  for  Zury  to  be  absent 
from  the  capital,  so  the  funeral  took  place  with 
out  him.  A  will  was  found,  duly  executed  years 
before,  whereby  the  simple  creature  had  devised 
all  her  property  to  her  husband,  never  even  men 
tioning  poor  Semantha  or  Alpha.  To  Zury  this 
seemed  all  right ;  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  all 
wrong ;  to  the  disinherited  mother  and  daughter, 
quite  natural.  They  never  expected  anything. 

"  But  yet,"  said  Semantha,  "  ef  she  lied  a  saw 
fit  t'  a  left  me  that  thar  quarter  it  mought  a  ben 
th't  Abner  he'd  a  come  back  'n'  lived  wi'  me 
agin.  But  th'  Lord's  will  be  done  !  "  And  she 
cried  a  little  at  the  thought  of  the  happiness  she 


420  ZURY. 

so  narrowly  missed  —  the  joy  of  welcoming  the 
return  of  a  worthless,  faithless  vagabond  who  had 
robbed  her  and  deserted  her  once  and  would  have 
done  it  again  if  he  had  had  a  chance.  But,  as 
folks  had  always  said,  "  S'manthy's  put  her  foot 
in  the  fire —  now  she  's  got  t'  walk  on  the  blister." 

For  many  days  the  legislative  journal  showed 
(and  shows)  the  monotonous  story.  "  The  two 
houses  met  in  joint  session  for  the  election  of 
senator.  Number  of  votes  cast,  160.  Necessary 
to  a  choice,  81.  Ballot:  Blue,  78,  Green,  77, 
Grey  5.  Meanwhile  an  outside  observer  would 
have  been  as  puzzled  with  the  aspect  of  things  at 
the  capital  as  men  are  in  trying  to  make  head  or 
tail  of  the  flying,  crawling,  humming,  buzzing,  of 
a  hive  of  bees  at  swarm  ing- time.  At  last  came 
the  crowning  act.  The  simple  words,  "  Blue  79, 
Grey  81,"  settled  the  business.  Zury  had  made 
a  United  States  senator,  and  could  subside  into 
his  natural  insignificance  as  soon  as  might  be. 

He  and  Anne  met  once  or  twice  during  the  ses 
sion,  always  with  the  coolest  of  bows  on  both 
sides.  But  with  the  close  of  the  session  Zury 
concluded  that  he  could  not  afford  to  remain  es 
tranged  any  longer.  Soon  after  the  adjournment, 
during  one  of  Phil's  customary  absences,  the  ex- 
member  from  Spring  called  on  Anne  once  more, 
this  time  at  the  cottage.  Anne  was  surprised, 
grew  a  little  pale,  but  managed  to  receive  him 
with  dignified  composure.  Years  seemed  to  have 
left  him  almost  unchanged.  Somewhat  older,  and 
smoothed  by  contact  with  the  world,  yet  strong, 


MAN  PROPOSES;    WOMAN  DISPOSES.     421 

sharp  and  egotistical  as  of  old.  With  public  life 
his  address  had  become  more  assuming,  —  less 
considerate.  She  observed  a  slight  change  in  his 
speech  :  it  was  not  clear  as  of  old  ;  he  seemed  as  if 
talking  with  his  mouth  full.  Then,  too,  he  had 
become  somewhat  oratorical,  circumlocutory,  and 
prone  to  speak  of  present  company  in  the  third 
person,  as  if  it  were  "  Mr.  Speaker  !  The  onnable 
member  from  Pike  "  ;  etc.  His  English  was  in  a 
transition  state.  With  attention  he  could  express 
himself  reasonably  well,  and  this  attention  he 
habitually  gave  when  talking  with  Anne  and  other 
educated  persons.  But  with  his  old  associates  his 
dialect  was  as  uncouth  as  ever.  Then  too,  when 
he  had  been  talking  carefully  for  a  while,  he  was 
apt  to  grow  interested  and  forgetful,  and  slip  back 
to  the  old  ways. 

After  the  usual  commonplaces,  Anne  said,  — 
"  I   see   you    elected    your    candidate   to   the 
Senate." 

"  Yes  ;  Grey  got  in.     So   it  did  n't  make  any 
difference  after  all." 

"  What  did  n't  make  any  difference  ?  " 
"  Why,  your  tellin'  his  name  to  that  reporter." 
"  My  telling  his  name  !  "    (She  flamed  up  and 
gave  him  a  withering  look.)     u  I  never  mentioned 
the    matter  to  a   living   soul.      Your  telling    his 
name  you   mean  —  after   imparting  it  to  me  as  a 
dead  secret  !  " 

"  I  never  peeped  it  to  no  man,  not  till  I  saw  the 
hull  thing  in  the  Springville  Bugle." 
44  What  can  it  mean?  " 


422  ZURY. 

"  Did  you  never  see  the  feller  again  ?  " 

"  Never ;  —  only  he  came  and  stood  near  the 
railing  after  you  went  away.  I  was  afraid  he 
wanted  to  ask  me  what  you  said,  so  I  turned  my 
back  and  went  on  with  my  writing."  Then  after 
a  pause,  "  Those  scraps  of  paper  !  " 

"  The  scraps  of  the  paper  I  wrote  the  name  on, 
and  then  tore  up  !  " 

The  case  was  clear.  The  enterprising  scribe 
had  picked  them  up  and  pieced  them  together. 
Again  Zury  and  Anne  had  been  angry  at  each 
other  for  months  because  of  —  nothing. 

u  Well,"  said  Zury.  "  I  expect  we  both  of  us 
was  fooled.  Now  tell  me  how  the  Widow  McVey 
has  prospered :  her  and  hers." 

"  I  'm  well,  Mr.  Prouder,  with  more  blessings 
than  I  deserve,  I  dare  say." 

"  Sho  now  !  I  would  n't  relish  to  hear  anybody 
say  that  except  the  Widow  McVey  herself." 

"  Of  course  we  all  have  our  ups  and  downs  in 
the  world." 

"  To  be  sure.  This  a  probationary  state  of 
trial."  (In  a  cheer}7,  consolatory  voice,  but  with 
a  glance  at  the  weed  on  his  hat.)  "  I  too  am 
bereaved.  Mis  Prouder,  she  was  called  shortly 
after  I  saw  you  last." 

"  I  had  heard  of  it.     Poor  Flora  !  " 

"  Well,  it  was  a  blessed  deliverance  for  her,  the 
way  she  was."  (Just  then  Margaret  entered.) 
"  Why,  who  's  this  ?  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Margaret,  this  is  our  very  old  and  good 
friend,  Mr.  Prouder." 


MAN  PROPOSES;    WOMAN  DISPOSES.     423 

"  How  d'  ye  do  Mr.  Prouder  ?  I  began  to  think 
I  should  never  set  eyes  on  you :  to  doubt  if  there 
was  any  such  person." 

"  Well,  Margaret.  I  saw  you  once  when  you 
didn't  see  me.  Now  I  am  mighty  glad  to  meet 
you.  You  don't  favor  your  mother  much,  do 
you?" 

"No,  I  do  not."     (A  sigh.) 

"  Never  you  mind.  Beauty  's  only  skin  deep, 
and  sometimes  not  that.  You  could  scrape  it  off 
some  of  these  Springville  gals  with  a  hoe,  an' 
then  they  'd  have  to  run  home  and  paint  up  again 
before  their  best  friends  would  know  them  from  a 
side  of  sole-leather." 

"  Well,  my  Margaret  never  painted  nor  pow 
dered  her  face  yet" 

"  No,  I  should  say  not,  nor  her  hair  neither.  If 
she  did,  it  wouldn't  be  jest  that  shade,  now 
would  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  if  she  wanted  to  please  her  mother, 
there  would  never  be  a  mite  of  difference."  (To 
herself :  "  You  horrid  old  idiot  !  ") 

"  If  it  was  her  mother  she  wanted  to  please. 
That 's  a  pretty  big  if." 

"  Well,  or  her  brother  either." 

"  But  now  suppose  it  was  some  other  gal's 
brother  she  wanted  to  please." 

"  But  I  don't.  I  would  n't  care  if  no  other  girl 
in  the  world  had  a  brother,  so  long  as  I  could 
keep  mine." 

"  That 's  right  my  gal !  That 's  the  way  to 
fetch  'em  — let  on  you  don't  want  'em." 


424  ZURY. 

"It  doesn't  seem  to  work  that  way  in  my  case. 
They  don't  'come  a  runnin','  as  folks  say." 

"  Never  you  mind.  Ye  ain't  so  old  as  your 
mother  yet,  and  she  ain't  a  bit  too  old  to  take 
notice." 

Both  the  women  laughed  at  this  —  Anne  rather 
nervously,  for  she  began  to  perceive  that  perhaps 
she  had  a  problem  coming  up  to  be  solved. 

Even  as  Zury  was  talking  he  was  making  a 
mental  inventory  of  the  pretty  and  simple  sur 
roundings,  so  different  from  the  coarse,  bare  space 
and  plenty  of  his  own  farm-house. 

"  That  table-spread  reminds  me  of  purple  'n' 
fine  linen  ;  the  tents  of  Kedar  and  curtains  of  Solo 
mon.  How  much  might  that  have  cost,  Mis  Mc- 
Vey  ?  " 

"  Two  dollars." 

"  Gee  Whillikin's  !     Two  dollars  ! " 

"  Yes,  you  see  we  only  bought  the  stuff  and 
fringe  and  tassels ;  Margaret  and  I  worked  the 
centre  and  corners."  She  said  this  with  gentle 
pride  and  some  softening  of  the  heart  toward 
Zury  because  she  thought  his  surprise  arose  from 
the  cheapness  of  the  fine  gay  bit  of  color.  In 
fact  he  was  only  thinking,  "  two  dollars  for  one 
table-spread  !  " 

"  Find  it  pretty  lonesome  ?  " 

"  Lonesome  ?  No,  never  !  Oh,  you  mean  Phil's 
being  away.  Yes ;  that  is  hard,  but  he  comes 
home  every  other  day." 

"  Ah,  yah  !  There  it  is  !  I  Ve  no  children  t' 
go  or  t'  come  —  t'  leave  or  t'  find." 


MAN  PROPOSES;    WOMAN  DISPOSES.      425 

A  long  pause  followed  this ;  then,  when  Mar 
garet  left  the  room  to  prepare  supper,  — 

"  Mis  McVey,  I  may  be  wrong,  and  I'm  liable 
to  stand  corrected  if  I  am  ;  but  it  does  seem  to  me 
as  if  Providence  had  fore-ordained  you  and  me  to 
travel  together  the  rest  of  our  journey  through  the 
vale." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Prouder !  I  never  could  think  of 
marrying  again." 

"  Well,  I  've  been  thinkin'  of  it  for  a  long  time 
—  at  least  the  best  part  of  —  some  months."  (He 
corrected  himself  so  as  not  to  overlap  the  time  of 
his  widowhood.) 

u  I  never  thought  of  it  at  all ;  and  I  don't  want 
to  think  of  it." 

"  I  know ;  that 's  what  the  widows  all  say.  At 
least,  so  I  'm  told.  But  I  guess  they  're  pretty 
liable  to  think  better  of  it  when  they  do  bring 
their  minds  to  it." 

"  Well,  then,  I  'm  different  from  the  rest." 

"  We  've  been  acquainted  a  long  time ;  ye  've 
known  me  pretty  well,  'n'  I  've  known  you  pretty 
well." 

Anne  was  silent,  and  bent  over  her  work. 

"  Ye  see  ye  'd  never  come  to  want,  it  ain't 
likely." 

She  thought  to  herself,  "  I  should  probably 
never  come  to  stop  wanting  so  long  as  you  held 
the  purse-strings." 

"  Ye  know  that  children  of  the  widow  inherit 
the  widow's  share  in  this  state,  accordin'  to  th' 
statoots  in  such  case  made  an'  provided." 


426  ZURY. 

"  There  is  n't  any  statute  to  prevent  a  man's 
leaving  his  money  as  he  pleases." 

"  Oh,  ye  need  n't  fear  my  willin'  my  property 
away  from  my  own  —  step-children." 

"  I  was  n't  thinking  of  that.  I  was  thinking 
that  you  might  leave  Phil  and  Margaret  whatever 
you  chose,  without  —  my  marrying  you." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  there  's  a  new  theological  col 
lege  of  my  persuasion  jest  startin'  at  the  State 
capital  that 's  got  big  hopes  of  me.  I  expect  them 
pious  men  of  God  's  prayin'  already  for  my  life  — 
for  the  lengthenin'  of  it  until  I  devise  and  be 
queath,  and-so-forth-and-so-forfch ;  and  then  the 
Lord's  will  be  done  —  and  mine  probated  and 
executed." 

Anne  sewed  on  steadily,  thinking  of  the  possi 
bility  of  Margaret's  going  through  the  world  as 
an  heiress  instead  of  a  dear,  dependent  old  maid. 

"  This  is  going  to  be  a  tremenjous  country  in 
the  next  generation  or  two,  or  three.  Such  glories 
as  the  Queen  of  Sheba  never  dreamed  of,  and 
did  n't  see  at  Solomon's  court  neither.  A  man 
or  a  woman  that  starts  in  with  a  hundred  thou 
sand  when  I  drop  it,  will  be  cuttin'  a  broad  swath 
before  he  dies,  and  his  children  broader  yet  to  the 
third  and  fourth  generation.  Somehow,  I  like 
to  think  of  Philip  —  your  son  —  just  spreadin 
himself,  after  you  and  I  are  dead  and  gone, 
backed  by  —  well,  maybe  a  million  of  money  !" 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  the  ruin  of  him,  and  be 
all  lost  and  worse  than  lost  in  his  own  lifetime." 

"  Mebbe,  mebbe  ;  but  in  your  children's  case  it 


MAN  PROPOSES;    WOMAN  DISPOSES.      427 

ain't  likely.  Though  come  to  think,  Johnny  Mc- 
Vey  war  n't  no  great  shakes  as  a  provider." 

She  flushed  angrily  at  this  coarse  thrust ;  but 
only  answered,  — 

"  Phil  is  not  a  fool,  nor  a  spendthrift.  Nor  yet 
a  miser  I " 

"  Phil  won't  have  to  be  mean.  I  guess  I  've 
been  mean  enough  for  two  generations !  And 
Margaret,  give  her  a  hundred  thousand,  and  the 
fellers  would  be  swarmin'  about  that  red  head  of 
hers,  like  skeeters  'round  a  torch !  " 

Anne  sighed  and  worked  on  in  silence. 

"  I  've  watched  Phil  ever  since  he  was  knee- 
high  to  a  duck.  Watched  him  when  you  did  n't 
know  it ;  nor  he  neither." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  he  suits  me.  Yes;  Phil  McVey  suits 
me ! "  He  could  not  have  told  her,  if  he  had 
tried,  how  well  Phil  "  suited  "  him  ;  how  he  doted 
on  him  ;  how  the  thought  of  Phil  filled  his  lonely 
heart  with  a  yearning  even  rivaling  the  regard  he 
felt  for  Phil's  mother.  But  she  guessed  it,  and 
said  gently, — 

u  I  don't  wonder !  " 

Zury  gazed  at  her  with  admiration. 

"  You  do  look  splendid  !  " 

She  almost  looked  up  to  see  if  he  meant  it. 

"  For  a  woman  of  your  age." 

Then  she  was  glad  she  had  n't. 

"  Which,  of  course,  is  not  old  by  any  means." 

Smoothing  her  work  on  her  lap,  and  glancing 
up  with  a  softer  look,  she  said,  — 


428  ZURY. 

"  You  hold  your  age  well,  too." 

"  Who,  me  ?  Yes ;  I  could  work  twenty-five 
hours  a  day,  same  as  ever,  if  I  had  to  ;  but  I  don't. 
I  've  good  enough  help  —  same  time  it  would  suit 
me  to  have  a  smart  feller  like  Phil  to  look  after 
the  property  whilst  I  was  seein'  the  world  —  me 
and  the  rest  of  the  family.  Hun  tin'  for  the  island 
and  the  rest  of  the  old  wall-paper  story,  you 
know." 

"  Phil  is  a  great  machinist.  He  would  n't  go 
on  a  farm." 

"  Go  where  he  was  sent,  I  guess."  (The  old 
hard  look.)  "  That 's  if  he  knows  which  side  his 
bread 's  buttered  on." 

"  Phil  has  no  call  to  do  what  does  n't  suit  him, 
for  the  sake  of  you  or  your  money ! "  said  Anne, 
firing  up  hotly  in  defense  of  her  son. 

"  He  could  n't  expect  nothing  for  nothing,  could 
he  ?  Could  you  ?  Could  I  ?  My  money  's  there, 
and  there  it  will  stay  until  I  tell  it  to  budge,  or 
till  I  die  and  leave  it." 

Anne's  tongue  was  just  going  to  retort,  "  Have 
I  or  mine  ever  asked  you  for  any  money  ?  "  But 
her  woman's  wit  thrust  into  her  hand  a  missile 
worth  a  quiverful  of  such  blunt  arrows  as  that. 

"  By  the  way,  you  got  your  hundred  dollars 
all  right,  did  n't  you  ?  " 

Even  Zury,  the  hardened,  felt  the  sting  of  this 
cut.  He  dropped  his  hat  and  picked  it  up  again  ; 
grew  fiery  red  and  stammered,  — 

"  Oh,  yes  —  and  that  reminds  me  —  I  didn't 
want  you  to  pay  me  that  money,  Mis  McVey." 


MAN  PROPOSES;    WOMAN  DISPOSES.     429 

"  And  the  interest.  You  got  that  too,  did 
you?" 

"  Certainly,  certainly  !  See  here  ;  that  was  all 
a  mistake  arisin'  out  of  Johnny's  going  to  Cali- 
forny  and  dyin'  so  sudden." 

"  Because  I  knew  that  they  stopped  it  out  of  my 
wages  at  the  store  —  but  you  never  sent  me  the 
canceled  note." 

"  Of  course  I  did  n't;  because  I  did  n't  consider 
it  no  way  settled.  The  money  and  the  note  both 
belongs  to  you,  and  I  guess  I  've  got  'em  both  in 
my  pocket  for  you  now.  Ye  -  es  ;  —  here  's  the 
note." 

Ann  took  the  old  scrap  of  paper,  worn  to  rags 
and  soiled  almost  to  illegibility,  and  after  glancing 
without  a  sigh  at  the  words,  "  John  Endicott  Mc- 
Vey,"  signed  at  the  foot,  in  a  hand  pretentious 
and  feeble,  she  quietly  lighted  a  match  and  burned 
the  paper  to  ashes,  as  if  saying,  "  Now  we  are 
square,  and  I  think  we  will  stay  so ! " 

"  As  I  was  sayin',  I  never  meant  to  have  you 
to  pay  for  your  husband's  horse.  It  ain't  the  law 
in  this  state  for  a  widow  woman  to  pay  her  hus 
band's  debts  out  of  her  own  money.  When  I  took 
the  note  I  did  n't  allow  to  have  that  triflin'  Mc- 
Vey  ridin'  off  my  live  stock  for  nothing.  That 
was  all." 

He  proceeded  to  count  out  a  hundred  dollars 
(from  the  same  old  plethoric  pocket-book  which 
had  held  the  note,  and  which  had  almost  grown 
to  be  a  part  of  his  being),  and  handed  them  to 
Anne. 


430  ZURY. 

Anne  held  the  bank-bills  a  moment,  and  then 
gave  them  back  to  him,  saying,  —  "  The  money  's 
not  mine.  I  paid  John's  debt  voluntarily  and  you 
received  it.  Now,  if  you  feel  that  it  does  not 
properly  belong  to  you,  just  add  the  interest  —  I 
see  you  have  not  thought  of  that  —  and  give  it  to 
Semantha.  I  hear  that  she  and  Alpha  are  as  poor 
as  ever." 

Another  hard  hit ! 

"  Oh,  don't  be  a  mite  afraid  about  them  !  I  'm 
goin'  to  take  care  of  them,  of  course.  Not  with 
your  money,  neither  !  I  '11  tell  you  —  this  money 
is  yours  by  rights,  but  money  is  powerful  scarce 
jest  now ;  s'pose  I  was  to  keep  it  for  you  ;  mebbe 
somethin'  '11  turn  up  to  change  the  circumstances 
of  both  of  us,  as  I  was  saying.  Oh,  Margaret! 
The  Princess  has  dropped  in,  has  she,  t'  see  the 
Queen  ?  Now,  Margaret,  I  was  jest  about  to  pay 
your  mother  an  old  balance,  and  she  agreed  with 
me  it  was  jest  as  safe  with  me  as  with  her,  so  let 
that  pass.  But  I  know  young  gals  want  money 
sometimes  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us,  so  look  here ! " 
Then  he  began  again  handling  over  the  filthy  rags 
that  mean  so  much  to  us  all.  He  ran  over  the 
hundreds  and  fifties  without  difficulty  —  even  the 
twenties  did  not  did  not  detain  him  long.  The 
tens  he  passed  slowty  by ;  one  of  the  fives  he  al 
most  pulled  out ;  but,  finally,  he  offered  her  the 
smallest  and  raggedest  bill  he  had  ! 

"  There,  my  gal !  See  what  you  can  buy  with 
that  against  I  come  next  time !  " 

Margaret  put  her  knuckles  on  her  hips  and 
replied,  — 


MAN  PROPOSES;    WOMAN  DISPOSES.     431 

"  Oh  dear,  no,  Mr.  Prouder  !  I  could  n't  think 
of  it!  I  have  no  earthly  use  for  the  money. 
Phil  gives  me  more  than  I  want  all  the  time." 

"  Take  it,  Margaret,  take  it !  "  He  spoke  pet 
tishly  in  his  haste  to  get  through  with  a  painful 
operation  —  as  one  might  address  a  dentist  who 
hesitated  after  the  forceps  had  taken  hold.  Meg 
looked  at  her  mother,  who  nodded  contemptu 
ously,  with  a  look  that  boded  ill  for  Zury's  suc 
cess  in  the  object  of  his  visit. 

So  Meg  took  the  bill,  stuffed  it  loose  in  her 
pocket  in  a  manner  which  cut  the  donor  to  the 
quick,  and  announced  tea.  Snowy  raised  biscuits, 
golden  butter,  limpid  honey,  lumpy  cream,  cold 
ham,  preserves,  cake,  blushing  squash-pie,  glitter 
ing  glass  and  charming  china,  made  Prouder's 
face  beam  and  his  mouth  water  when  he  followed 
mother  and  daughter  into  the  tea-room. 

"  Sakes  alive !  Is  this  the  way  the  Princess 
takes  care  of  the  Queen  and  the  Prime  Minister 
from  Wayback  ?  " 

Anne  glowed  with  pride  of  her  daughter,  and 
to  think  of  the  possibility  of  her  being  the  means 
of  making  that  daughter  and  her  absent  son 
"wealthy  people."  Or  of  her  declining  such  a 
magnificent  possibility. 

Mr.  Prouder  was  not  quite  so  brilliant  as  usual 
for  a  while  after  they  sat  down.  He  helped  the 
ladies  with  his  old-time  gayety,  but  sobered  down 
when  he  proceeded  to  feed  himself.  He  spread 
his  biscuit  and  essayed  to  bite  it ;  failed  and  took 
it  down  to  his  plate  where  he  cut  it  into  bits ; 


432  ZURY. 

mumbled  it  in  silence  for  a  while;  then  took  a 
drink  of  tea  and  spoke  these  ever  memorable 
words :  — 

"  I  've  stood  this  thing  jest  as  long  as  I  'm  goin' 
to." 

Whereupon  he  whipped  out  of  his  mouth  a  par 
tial  set  of  false  teeth,  rolled  them  in  his  bandanna, 
and  stuffed  them  in  his  pocket. 

"  There  now  !  Zury  Praouder  ain't  any  den 
tist's  fool  if  he  has  got  a  gilt  sign,  and  guarantees 
a  fit !  A  fit !  I  'd  like  t'  guarantee  him  a  fit ! 
And  I  '11  give  him  fits  when  I  catch  him,  too ! 
Dog-gone  him  ! " 

Whereupon  Anne  said,  — 

"  What  remarkably  pleasant  weather  we  've 
been  having !  " 

But  she  thought,  — 

"  Oh  dear,  it  can  not  be  my  duty  to  marry  Zury 
Prouder !  It  is  n't  —  it  is  n't  —  it  is  n't  —  it  is  n't ! 
So  there,  now !  That 's  off  my  mind  !  " 

"  Mr.  Prouder,  what  more  can  I  help  you  to  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you,  Margaret.  I  would  n't  choose 
any  more.  I  've  supped  hearty." 

So  the  repast  came  to  an  end  and  was  cleared 
away,  the  two  women  washing  the  dishes  on  the 
tea-table,  after  the  pleasant  fashion  of  our  ances 
tresses.  There  was  the  table-tub  with  its  shining 
hoops,  the  little  mop  of  cotton  twine,  the  red- 
embroidered  towel  of  snowy  linen,  and,  prettiest 
of  all,  the  shiny,  pink-tipped  fingers,  glowing  with 
the  work. 

Anne's  new  resolve  freed  her  from  the  burden 


MAN  PROPOSES;    WOMAN  DISPOSES.     433 

of  uncertainty,  and  her  spirits,  which  had  been 
perceptibly  lower  while  she  was  laboring  over  an 
unsolved  problem,  took  a  great  rebound. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  me  for  the  conclusion  of 
the  wall-paper  story?  " 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure.  I  was  comin'  to  that.  S'pose 
you  read  it  out  now  !  " 

"  Well,  I  have  n't  quite  finished  it  yet." 

44  Not  altogether  ?  Well,  read  what  you  've  got 
ready,  why  not?" 

"  Oh,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  n't  quite  —  begun 
it,  either ! " 

"  Not  struck  a  lick  at  it !     In  all  these  years  !  " 

"I've  almost  begun  it.  There's  plenty  of 
time." 

"How  do  you  know  about  time?  Got  your 
life  insured  ?  " 

"  Oh,  springtime  is  past ;  and  I  always  noticed 
that,  if  I  lived  through  the  spring,  I  was  safe  for 
the  rest  of  the  year  !  " 

44  Ah,  I  see.  Good  enough  !  Well,  for  a  fact, 
you  do  look  this  minute  as  though  Death  himself 
wouldn't  never  darse't  to  touch  you." 

"  Look  as  if  I  could  scare  him  away  ?  " 

"  Look  as  though  you  could  coax  him  away. 
Do  what  you  had  a  min'  ter  with  him ! " 

44  Well!  That's  nice!  But  there's  another 
thing.  Having  passed  my  word,  I  can't  die  until 
I  've  written  that  story  out." 

44  If  I  thought  that,  I  VI  say  4  Don't  you  touch  it ! 
Never ! '  The  world  could  n't  go  on  without  Anne 
McVey." 


434  ZURY. 

"  Nonsense  !  Her  death  would  n't  make  a  rip 
ple  in  the  flood.  Only  two  hearts  would  bleed." 
And  she  looked  lovingly  at  Meg,  whose  eyes  sud 
denly  filled  with  tears. 

"  Make  it  three,  make  it  three,  and  I  'm  agreed," 
said  Zury,  with  unusual  seriousness. 

"  There !  In  a  minute  we  shall  all  be  crying 
over  imaginary  woes.  Let 's  talk  of  other  things. 
You  have  n't  begun  to  tell  me  about  Wayback 
yet.  They  have  n't  disturbed  the  old  school-house, 
I  suppose." 

"  Oh  yes,  improved  it  until  you  'd  hardly  know 
it.  Every  bench  a  back,  every  desk  a  drawer. 
The  old  logs  are  about  all  there  is  left  of  what 
you  used  to  see." 

"  I  'd  like  to  lay  my  cheek  against  those  old 
logs,  before  I  die." 

"  I  guess  the  logs  could  stand  it  if  you  could. 
But  the  folks !  Oh,  you  've  got  right  smart  to 
answer  for.  Stuck  up  till  you  can't  rest !  You 
made  them  gals  so  toploftical  that  common,  low- 
down  farmer's  boys  war  n't  good  enough  for  'em, 
and  they  all  like'  ter  died  old  maids  !  Old  man 
Anstey,  he 's  built  him  a  house.  Reekie,  you 
know  she  married  the  preacher,  Masten.  War  n't 
he  a  mighty  smart  customer  !  Better,  too,  if  any 
thing,  after  you  gave  him  a  settin'  down.  Gifted 
in  discourse,  fervent  at  the  Throne  and  happy 
at  funerals.  Conference  took  to  takin'  notice  of 
Masten,  and  he  clum  and  clum  :  last  place  I  heard 
of  him  he  was  at  Galeny,  with  the  best  follerin' 
in  Jo  Daviess  County.  I  saw  'em  when  I  was  up 


MAN  PROPOSES,-    WOMAN  DISPOSES.     435 

to  Galeny  a  spell  ago.  I  was  up  there  lookin' 
into  lead-mining  property  a  little;  didn't  buy, 
dunno's  I  will  and  dunno  but  I  will.  It's  owing 
to  how  the  cat  jumps.  Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  I 
called  on  Eureky  in  Galeny ;  and,  sakes  alive ! 
you  'd  oughter  see  the  style  they  put  on  !  Hired 
gal  to  wait  on  table  jest  as  though  it  was  a  ho 
tel  ! " 

"  Family,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Oh  yes.  Eureky 's  got  a  daughter  most  as 
big  as  you.  Named  fer  you,  too,  like  most  of  the 
oldest  gals  of  your  old  scholars.  And  ha-an'some  ! 
Yum-yum !  Stand  from  under  when  she  begins 
to  take  notice  ! " 

Anne's  gayety  was  sympathetic  and  catching. 
Not  only  did  she  shine,  but  she  made  poor  Zury 
feel  as  if  he  had  never  been  so  brilliant  in  his 
life,  and,  all  the  while,  he  was  becoming  more  and 
more  satisfied  that  he  had  at  last  "struck  his 
gait "  as  they  say  of  trotters,  and  that  his  life 
would  be  happier  in  its  remaining  years  than  he 
had  ever  dreamed  of  its  being  in  his  youth. 
Anne  saw  his  happiness,  his  confident  hope, 
and  his  ardent  admiration.  She  even  let  it  go  on 
and  on  with  a  certain  enjoyment  that  was  not 
quite  blameless,  but  wholly  womanly. 

One  thing  troubled  Zury.  Anne  never  let 
Margaret  leave  her  for  a  moment.  How  could  he 
demand  the  hand  and  heart  of  the  mother  while 
the  daughter  was  present?  Or  how  get  the 
daughter  out  of  the  way  ?  Time  was  flying,  he 
must  depart  in  a  little  while. 


436  ZURY. 

"  Might  the  Prime  Minister  from  Wayback 
make  so  bold  as  to  ask  the  Princess  of  Springville 
t'  get  him  a  drink  of  water?" 

"  Oh,  surely  Margaret,  let 's  have  a  pitcherful. 
You  draw  some  fresh,  while  I  get  the  ice." 

"  Oh  mother,  you  sit  still  and  I  '11 "  — 

"  Do  as  I  bid  you,  my  dear." 

This  was  said  with  that  "  shine  "  of  the  eyes 
that  serves  as  a  masonic  sign  between  women,  and 
at  once  establishes  a  secret  understanding,  and  an 
offensive  and  defensive  alliance.  Margaret  knew 
in  an  instant  that,  for  some  occult  reason,  she  was 
not  to  leave  her  mother  alone  with  Mr.  Prouder. 

When  no  further  excuse  for  delay  was  possible, 
the  poor  fellow  took  his  leave,  with  one  last  effort. 

"Well,  I  must  be  travelin'.  Wouldn't  it  be 
accordin'  to  Jefferson's  manual  if  the  Queen  was 
to  escort  the  Prime  Minister  jest  a  short  ways 
towards  home  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure.  Come  Margaret,  where  are 
our  things?" 

Zury  began  to  lose  confidence.  They  walked 
a  little  way  down  the  rural  street,  flecked  and 
streaked  with  moonlight  and  shadows,  and  then 
back  to  the  widow's  gate  ;  the  stream  of  talk  be 
coming  more  and  more  attenuated  as  embarrass 
ment  and  consciousness  of  cross  -  purposes  in 
creased. 

"  Mis  McVey,  might  I  have  a  half  a  minute 
alone  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can't  have  any  secrets  from  my  daugh 
ter." 


MAN  PROPOSES;    WOMAN  DISPOSES.     437 

"  Well,  then,  the  matter  I  started  in  on  when 
I  first  come  'round  this  afternoon  —  is  that  all 
right?" 

"  All  right?  Yes;  all  right,  just  as  I  said  to 
you  when  you  first  mentioned  it." 

"  What  you  said  then  was  all  wrong  as  I  under 
stood  it." 

"  No  ;  it  was  all  right.  I  guess  it  will  stand. 
I  meant  what  I  said,  and  I  mean  it  yet." 

The  poor  fellow  aged  at  heart  as  he  listened. 
A  lump  rose  in  his  throat  that  made  his  good-bye 
inaudible.  He  tottered  a  little  in  his  lonely  walk 
to  the  hotel.  Never  till  now  had  he  known  how 
dear  to  him  was  this  unrecognized  plan  and  pur 
pose  of  his  life ;  and  never  till  now  had  he  felt 
the  weakness  of  wealth  as  a  means  of  happiness. 
He  took  out  the  fat  pocket-book,  full  of  money 
and  promissory  notes  and  securities,  and  tried  to 
re-awaken  the  spell  which  it  ought  to  exercise  over 
his  sinking  spirit.  Vain,  vain,  vain  !  There  was 
no  joy  in  it  at  that  moment.  He  even  threw  it 
down  and  trod  on  it ! 

"  Ye  beastly  varmint !  It 's  you  that 's  ruined 

me  !  It 's  you  that 's  made  me  such  a  that 

she  can't  bear  me,  rich  as  I  am  !  And  she  's  right, 
too  !  Zury  Praouder,  ye  miserable  cuss,  —  ye  've 
even  got  a  hundred  dollars  an'  more  of  her  money 
in  there,  and  ye  know  it ;  an'  ye  tried  to  give  it 
to  her,  and  ye  could  n't ;  ye  nigger  slave  !  " 

Then  tears  came  —  though  not  to  his  relief : 
the  hot,  bitter  tears  of  age  that  come  from  such 
a  deep  place  that  they  scald  the  heart-strings  as 


438  ZURY. 

they  start.  They  sprang  from  his  eyes  and  ran 
down  his  nose  and  dripped  off  on  the  pocket-book 
as  he  picked  it  up. 

As  he  laid  his  weary  head  on  his  pillow  that 
night  he  groaned  aloud :  — 

"  Oh  mother !  mother !  "  His  anguish  took  him 
away  back  to  the  helplessness  of  childhood. 

How  did  Anne  and  Meg  fare  on  the  same  oc 
casion  ? 

"  Mother !      What  does  it  all  mean  ?  " 

"  My  blessed  girl !  Come  and  strengthen  your 
mother !  There  —  put  your  dear  curly  head  in 
the  old  place,  and  tell  me  you  don't  want  to  be 
rich." 

"  Rich,  mother  ?  I  am  rich  !  Nothing  could 
make  me  poor  while  you  live  on  the  earth,  except 
to  see  you  unhappy  !  " 

"  You  are  sure  you  don't  want  a  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars  ?" 

"  I  'd  like  to  give  it  to  you,  for  your  very  own  ! 
I  have  no  other  use  for  it." 

"  I  've  had  it  offered  to  you  and  Phil,  and  I 
refused  for  both." 

"  Did  that  man  offer  to  give  it  to  us  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  not  exactly  to  give  it,  but  to  trade  it,  — 
he  to  have  me  while  he  lives  and  give  it  to  you 
when  he  dies  !  " 

"  Ugh ! " 

The  English  alphabet  is  not  provided  with  vow 
els  and  consonants  which  can  express  the  sound 
that  accompanied  Meg's  shudder  of  repulsion  and 


MAN  PROPOSES;    WOMAN  DISPOSES.      439 

disgust  as  she  hugged  her  mother  more  closely  and 
strenuously.  Suddenly  she  thrust  her  away  to 
arm's  length  and  looked  at  her  with  something  as 
near  to  indignation  as  those  gentle  eyes  could 
express. 

"  Mother !  he  spoke  of  this  when  he  first  came, 
and  yet  you  treated  him  civilly  all  the  rest  of  the 
time  !  I  would  n't  have  thought  it  of  you  !  " 

The  young  woman  disapproved  strongly  of  her 
mother  from  that  moment  onward  —  until  it  came 
time  to  ukiss  good-night,"  then  she  broke  down 
and  magnanimously  forgave  her  for  having  even 
tolerated  the  idea  of  making  her  children  rich  by 
a  sacrifice  of  herself.  If  she  had  not  forgiven  her, 
—  if  they  had  gone  to  sleep  having  any  alien 
thoughts  between  them,  —  it  would  have  been  the 
first,  last,  and  only  time  in  all  their  lives. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  NIGHTMARE:  ALSO  A  HORSE-SHED. 

POOR  Zury  Prouder  could  not  shake  off  his 
troubles  so  easily  as  could  Anne  and  Margaret 
forget  theirs.  They  slept  and  woke  as  gay  as 
larks,  he  a  prey  to  disappointment  and  mortifi 
cation.  These  fiends  sat  at  his  bed-head,  and 
though  they  could  not  retard  his  usual  prompt 
falling  asleep,  they  could  and  did  hasten  his  wak 
ing  up.  After  a  very  short  slumber,  with  the  first 
gleam  of  consciousness  —  such  a  glimmering  as 
would  ordinarily  have  only  added  zest  to  his  later 
rest  —  came  their  sharp,  sneering  voices  and 
startled  him  broad  awake. 

"  Ho,  Zury  !  You  Zury  Prouder  !  The  lady 
would  n't  have  ye,  would  n't  she  ?  No  ;  not  at 
no  price  !  Well,  who  but  an  old  fool  like  you 
would  ever  think  she  'd  so  much  as  look  at  yer 
shadow  !  She  a  lady,  born  and  bred,  and  a  scholar, 
and  you  a  — !  " 

The  poor  fellow  groaned  and  turned  over,  shak 
ing  his  shaggy  head  in  a  vain  effort  to  repel  the 
pestiferous  voices. 

"  You,  Zury  !  Don't  go  to  sleep  again  !  We 
wanter  talk  to  ye  !  Thought  ye  was  rich  enough 
to  buy  up  any  poor  widow-woman  on  th'  footstool, 


A  NIGHTMARE:  ALSO  A  HORSE-SHED.     441 

did  ye  ?  He-be  !  Not  Anne  McVey  !  Better  go 
fer  one  of  your  own  kind  next  time  —  low-down 
trash  like  yerself  —  ye  poor  ignor'nt  old  miser  ! 
Mortgage-sharp  !  Land-shark  !  Owin'  her  money 
ye  could  n't  pay  even  when  ye  got  it  out  t'  hand 
over  to  her  !  " 

He  groaned  again  and  buried  his  face  in  the 
pillow,  shutting  his  ears  with  his  hands. 

"  Oh  no,  Zury,  it  war  n't  no  dream  about  her 
givin'  ye  the  mitten.  She  did  it,  an'  she  meant 
it,  too ;  an'  if  she  had  n't,  it  would  have  been  her 
that  was  the  fool  instead  of  you !  Ye  'd  starve 
her  to  death,  body  and  soul !  Rich  are  ye?  Oh, 
yes,  —  mebbe.  Awful  rich  !  You  can't  buy  no 
two-dollar  table-spread  !  You  can't  have  no  sup 
per-table  that  looks  like  a  picture.  You  can't 
have  no  women  folks  that  looks  and  talks  and  acts 
like  ladies !  No  sirree !  She  spends  as  much 
money  in  a  year  as  you  can  make  in  a  week ; 
and  that  'd  break  your  poor  old  miserly  heart,  ye 
old  skinflint,  ye  know  it  would  ! 

"  Them  children  of  hern  —  what  would  they 
have  been  if  you'd,  had  the  rearin'  of  'em  ?  The 
gal,  she  'd  have  been  about  like  Alphy !  Your 
own  dead  wife's  own  niece  —  not  half  as  edicated 
nor  half  as  nice  dressed  as  poor  old  man  Anstey's 
gals !  An'  him  'eenamost  a  pauper  ;  an'  you  the 
richest  man  in  Spring  County  ;  an'  the  meanest 
on  Goddlemighty's  green  earth  !  And  look  once 
at  Semanthy  !  Your  own  sister-in-law  !  Slaved 
for  ye  all  these  years,  and  now  ye  got  her  dead 
sister's  property  in  your  hands ;  and  she  nothin' 


442  ZURY. 

to  show  for  all  but  poor-house  feed  an'  scarecrow 
clothes  for  her  and  her  daughter !  Ye  had  n't 
oughter  let  Anne  McVey  set  eyes  on  them  in 
their  dirt  and  rags !  It  gave  ye  clean  away ! 
That 's  the  kind  of  a  sweet-scented  prospeck  ye 
held  out  to  her  !  " 

Another  helpless  groan. 

"  That  boy,  Phil :  think  ye  'd  know  him  for 
the  fine  feller  he  is  if  you  'd  had  a  chance  to  bring 
him  up  in  your  ways  ?  You  and  him  would  a 
been  forever  chasin'  the  same  sixpence  'round  the 
country,  an'  you  usially  ketchin'  it  first !  Oh, 
he  'd  be  a  sweet-scented  young  gum-tree,  com 
pared  to  what  he  is  now,  if  he  'd  been  in  your  care 
instead  of  hers  !  " 

"  Oh  Lordy,  Lordy  !  " 

"  Made  a  good  speech,  did  n't  ye,  when  she  told 
ye  what  to  say  !  Got  ye  into  the  legislature  that 
speech  did.  And  then  ye  thought  ye  'd  try  a 
quarrel  with  her  I  Boomin'  success  that  quarrel 
was,  was  n't  it?  Didn't  take  her  long  to  learn 
ye  your  place." 

"  Oh  there,  there :  lemme  rest !  " 

"  How  d'  ye  come  out  when  ye  tried  to  make  a 
speech  on  your  own  hook  ?  Chairman  of  Geol 
ogy  and  Science  made  another  boomin'  success, 
did  n't  he-?" 

"  I  took  down  Gunnitt,  anyhow  !  " 

"  Ya-as,  jest  what  you're  fit  for!  What  any 
brute  beast  could  have  done  if  he  'd  been  big 
enough  I  " 

"  And  ye   thought,  ye  old   fool,  that  a  natur' 


.     A  NIGHTMARE:  ALSO  A   HORSE-SHED.      44o 

like  hers  could  be  bought  with  money !  Sho ! 
She  don't  want  you  ner  your  money.  Her  kind  of 
goods  won't  swap  for  your  kind  of  currency.  Ye 
ain't  her  kind  of  a  man :  no,  and  won't  never  be, 
not  at  your  age  !  Ye  lost  yer  chance  when  ye 
did  n't  run  away  to  sea  ner  yet  to  the  Soul- 
sleepers'  college.  An'  then  again  —  ye  traded 
her  off  for  a  farm  !  Acted  the  dog,  an'  traded 
her  off  for  another  farm  !  " 

"Well,  well!"  said  Zury  aloud,  as  he  finally 
rebelled  against  his  persecutors,  sat  up  in  bed,  and 
stared  into  the  darkness.  Then  he  groped  about, 
found  his  clothes,  and,  carrying  his  boots  in  his 
hands  to  avoid  arousing  attention,  finally  got  out 
into  the  star-lit  streets.  By  habit  his  steps  led 
him  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  store  where  Anne 
worked  ;  then  by  intention  he  walked  out  to  where 
her  cottage  stood  —  so  neat,  so  simple,  so  humble, 
so  like  others  about  it,  and  yet  so  different  to  him  ! 

The  stillness  was  awful.  But  even  this  was 
better  than  the  torturing  thoughts  that  had 
hounded  him  as  he  lay  awake,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life.  As  he  wandered  aimlessly  about,  in 
search  of  the  mental  rest  that  comes  from  bodily 
weariness,  he  heard  a  train  approaching  on  the  rail 
way,  catching  its  first  murmurs  while  it  was  yet  a 
long  way  off.  He  strolled  toward  the  station  and 
watched  its  arrival,  and  the  dispersal  of  the  few 
tired,  cross,  and  sleepy  travelers.  Among  them  was 
a  poor  woman  with  a  whimpering  child  at  her  side 
and  a  wailing  one  in  her  arms,  which  she  jogged 
up  and  down  with  a  ceaseless,  weary  motion. 


444  ZURY. 

"  Are  ye  shoor  ?  "  he  heard  her  say  in  a  despair 
ing  tone  and  a  fine  brogue  to  the  station-master. 

"  Sure  's  shootiu' !  No  sech  a  man  hain't  be'n 
raound  a-askin'  fer  nobody  sence  I  come  on  at 
six  last  night." 

"  Oh  dare  !     What  '11  I  do  at  all,  at  all  ?  " 

"  Better  go  somewher's  till  mornin'.  Then 
mebbe  ye  kin  find  him  —  if  he's  in  taown  V  t' 
work  at  his  trade,  ye  '11  find  him." 

"  Sorra  the  place  have  I  got  t'  go  to !  " 

"  Wai,  ye  kin  git  t'  stay  in  th'  waitin'-room." 
So  he  unlocked  the  door  which  he  had  closed  for 
the  night,  and  lighted  a  most  malodorous  lamp, 
evidently  lately  blown  out ;  and  the  helpless,  lone 
some,  disappointed  soul  bestowed  her  poor  bundles 
as  well  as  she  could,  and  then  went  on  trying  to 
still  the  baby  with  the  same  fruitless  waving  and 
shaking  motion. 

"  Oh  marmy,  marmy,"  called  the  other  from 
where  she  had  seated  him  on  the  bundles. 

"  Shut  up  !  I  ain't  got  nothin  fer  yez  !  "  Shut 
up  I  tell  ye !  "  And  the  wail  descended  to  a 
whine,  but  never  ceased. 

Zury  thought  to  himself,  "  Them  folks  is  havin' 
a  hard  time  tew."  And  he  smiled  grimly  at  the 
community  of  misery,  albeit  its  causes  were  so 
diverse. 

As  he  turned  away,  he  saw  the  glimmer  of  a 
lantern,  carried  by  one  of  the  train-hands  who 
had  just  arrived  —  evidently  the  fireman,  going 
home  after  housing  his  engine.  Zury  followed  list 
lessly,  observing  that  the  youth  walked  toward  the 


A  NIGHTMARE:   ALSO  A   HORSE-SHED.      445 

McVev  cottage.  No  need  to  keep  in  sight;  the 
boy's  whistle  was  a  guide.  Could  it  be  Phil  ? 
He  walked  along,  unobserved,  and  saw  the  other 
take  all  the  turns  that  led  to  the  u  sweet,  sweet 
home"  of  Anne  and  her  children.  Yes  —  he 
turned  in  at  the  gate  and  knocked  gently  at  the 
door,  which  was  opened  almost  instantly  by  a  tall, 
white-robed  figure :  evidently  some  one  had  been 
cheerfully  and  hopefully  awaiting  his  accustomed 
coming,  for  a  laugh  and  a  kiss  were  audible  in  the 
moment  that  intervened  before  the  door  closed. 

This  was  not  calculated  to  calm  Zury's  per 
turbed  soul.  He  walked  again  toward  the  station. 
As  he  walked  his  grim  bedside  foes  suddenly 
spoke  again. 

"  Oho,  Zury  !  If  you  were  such  a  feller  as  the 
widder  McVey  'd  ought  to  marry,  that  thar  poor 
woman  would  n't  be  left  alone  and  friendless  with 
her  babes." 

"  'T  ain't  none  o'  my  business,"  said  Zury  aloud 
in  reply. 

44  No,  Zury,  you  're  mighty  right,  it  ain't  none 
o'  yer  business !  That 's  because  ye  ain't  her 
kind  of  a  man.  Ef  you  was  Anne's  kind  of  a 
man,  —  like  her  son  Phil,  for  instance,  —  it'd  be 
your  business,  fast  enough  !  " 

"  What  business  has  the  woman  got  travelin' 
about  alone,  like  a  blamed  tramp,  anyhow  ?  " 

"Same  business  ye 've  got  yourself  mebbe, — 
'cause  she  can't  help  it,  no  more  'n  yew  can." 

44 1  can  help  it.  I  can  go  right  home  to  th'  old 
farm  t'-morrer! " 


446  ZURY. 

u  Then  y'  ain't  so  excusable  as  she  is,  ye  old 
fool.  What  ye  trampin'  round  h'yer  for  ?  " 

Still  Zury  neared  the  station,  and  at  last  he 
peeped  in  — no  change  in  the  distressed  group,  ex 
cept  that  the  baby  was  being  quieted  by  nursing, 
and  the  older  child  made  more  noisy  by  beating. 

"  Oho,  Zury,  rich  Zury,  richest  ma-an  in  Spring 
County,  an'  th'  meanest,  ye'  could  n't  pay  a  cent 
to  help  that  lonesome  critter,  not  to  save  your 
life ! " 

"Ye 're  a  liar!  I  could!  But  I  don't  wan- 
ter!" 

"  Phil  could,  poor  as  he  is  !  He  would  n't  be 
abed  and  asleep  now,  not  if  he  'd  a  heard  the 
smallest  hoot  of  them  cry  in'  children  I  But  you 
could  n't !  No  sirree !  It  'd  cost  ye  a  hull  doller, 
mebbe  !  Much  's  your  corn-crop  has  growed  since 
we  woke  ye  up  'n'  started  ye  out." 

"  I  tell  ye  ye  're  a  liar  !  I  kin  —  and  what 's 
more  I  will." 

He  set  his  teeth  firmly  and  walked  into  the 
doleful  room. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  sonny  ?  " 

The  boy  stopped  crying  and  held  his  peace. 

"Be  ye  hungry?"  Still  the  little  fellow  sat 
speechless,  startled  out  of  his  misery  by  this  large 
and  terrible  new-comer. 

"  Tell  the  gintleman,  Mike.  Spake  up  now 
like  a  man,  an'  tell  the  gintleman  ye  did  n't  have 
hardly  a  bite  the  day." 

"  Oh  well,  see  h'yer,  this  won't  never  do  — 
stayin'  h'yer  like  this.  Come  along  o'  me  —  I  '11 


A  NIGHTMARE:  ALSO  A  HORSE-SHED.     447 

find  ye  a  place  to  lay  down  and  suthV  another 
to  eat,  anyhow  ;  an'  then  ye  can  find  your  old  man 
in  the  morning!  " 

"  The  Lard  reward  ye  sorr  —  if  ye  'd  do  that 
same  !  "  said  the  poor  creature  eagerly,  and  after 
two  or  three  efforts  she  rose  with  such  alacrity  as 
the  heavy  baby  allowed,  jerked  the  long-suffering 
boy  off  her  baggage,  and  seized  upon  it  with  her 
disengaged  hand.  Zury  took  it  from  her,  in  spite 
of  her  protests,  and  would  have  led  the  boy  also, 
except  for  that  youth's  preference  for  his  accus 
tomed  support  —  the  dirty  end  of  his  mother's 
dragging  shawl. 

As  they  emerged  from  the  station  and  faced  the 
east  the  pale  dawn  greeted  them,  and  it  grew  into 
an  almost  rosy  light  before  they  got  to  the  tav 
ern.  There  they  found  the  "  all-night  clerk." 

44  Hello,  Mr.  Prouder !  Thought  you  was  abed 
an'  asleep  in  number  seven  !  " 

"  Had  to  go  to  the  train  to  meet  a  man.  H'yer's 
a  woman  and  a  couple  o' children — no  place  to 
go,  an'  nothin'  to  eat.  I  s'pose  ye  won't  charge 
'em  much  for  bed  an'  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  we  're  used  to  it.  I  '11  give  'em  a  place 
to  lop  down  in,  and  all  they  want  to  eat." 

"  Well,  I  may  's  well  pay  ye  naow  for  'em  — 
How  much  ?  " 

44  Not  a  cent,  Mr.  Prouder.  Fust  place,  we  do 
that  same  thing,  at  the  same  rate,  pretty  nearly 
every  day,  when  we  ain't  drove  ner  crowded. 
Next  place,  we  'd  do  it  for  you,  anyhow,  and 
mighty  welcome,  too  !  Come  along,  mom.  Come 


448  ZURY. 

along,  Patsy  !  Here  's  my  midnight  lunch,  enough 
for  three,  I  haven't  scarcely  touched  it  —  coffee, 
cold  sausages,  pie,  bread  —  one  thing  another. 
There,  go  into  the  porter's  room,  he 's  gone  to  bed 
up-stairs,  since  the  train  came  in  —  you  eat  first, 
and  then  lay  down  on  the  cot,  and  lock  the  door 
and  sleep  as  long  as  you  like." 

The  sun  was  peeping  over  the  horizon,  as  Zury 
pulled  down  his  blind  and  lay  down  once  more  to 
piece  out  his  night's  rest.  The  troublesome  fiends 
were  gone,  or  silenced.  He  felt  as  if  perhaps 
there  was  some  doubt  as  to  his  not  being  "  Anne's 
kind  of  a  man" — maybe  so  —  if  it  was  always 
as  cheap  to  be  decently  kind  as  he  had  found  it 
so  far,  —  but  then  that  looked  as  though  he  had 
not  learned  anything  after  all — he  wished  the 
clerk  had  taken  his  dollar  :  never  mind,  he  'd  give 
it  to  the  woman  in  the  morning.  And  the  clerk 
said  the  tavern  was  doing  this  kind  of  thing 
every  day !  By  this  time  he  was  asleep  as  sound 
as  poor  little  Mike  down  stairs. 

When  wakefulness  returned  it  brought  new 
consciousness  of  pain  and  disappointment,  but  also 
new  courage  and  hope.  Naturally  enough,  the 
poor  wayfaring  family  was  a  comforting  thought 
and  occupation  for  his  mind.  When  he  came  out 
from  breakfast,  they  were  already  wandering 
about  in  front  of  the  tavern,  making  futile  and 
feeble  efforts  to  find  the  husband  and  father  —  the 
missing  link  whereon  hung  their  slender  chance 
of  not  dropping  into  the  poorhouse.  Its  slender- 
ness  did  not  much  trouble  their  simple,  trustful 


A  NIGHTMARE:  ALSO  A  HORSE-SHED.     449 

souls ;  almost  incapable  of  hope  or  fear.  Zury 
kept  to  his  intention  :  at  least  he  gave  them  — 
some  money. 

Finding  that  they  were  still  without  the  needful 
clew,  he  led  them  to  "  the  store."  There  he  pro 
vided  them  with  a  good  stock  of  coarse  food  — 
without  expense  to  himself  —  and  getting  hold  of 
the  name  of  a  man  who  might  be  the  missing  link, 
he  volunteered  to  go  in  quest  of  him.  Anne  had 
seen  him  bring  them  in  and  soon  found  time  to 
.question  them.  When  she  learned  that  he  had 
befriended  them,  when  she  heard  the  poor  crea 
ture's  florid  and  effusive  expressions  of  thankful 
ness  for  his  small  and  cheap  beneficence,  it 
brought  a  glow  of  pleased  surprise  to  her  heart. 
She  learned,  too,  the  time  of  night  at  which  he 
had  picked  them  up;  and  she  guessed  that  he 
had  slept  but  little.  Could  it  have  been  on  her 
account  ? 

Zury  soon  returned  with  the  husband  and  fa 
ther  ;  and  as  he  stood  contemplating  the  family 
reunion  with  a  smile  —  rather  grim,  though  also 
quite  benevolent,  Anne  went  to  him  and  said  with 
her  own  frankness,  — 

"  Mr.  Prouder,  I  've  been  talking  with  that  poor 
creature,  and  —  I  don't  know  when  I  've  been  more 
pleased,  delighted  I  may  say  "  (she  wanted  to  say 
"  surprised  "),  "  than  I  was  to  hear  of  your  kind- 
heartedness,  and  your  —  liberality  !  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  sadness  in  his  eyes  that 
quite  touched  her,  and  said  something  about  not 
having  done  anything  to  speak  of. 


450  ZURY. 

"  But  you  Ve  done  everything  !  You  were  just 
the  right  man  in  the  right  place  at  the  right  time, 
and  did  the  right  thing.  As  the  ministers  say, 
Providence  must  have  picked  you  out  as  an  instru 
ment  for  the  succor  of  the  helpless  !  " 

"  They  do  say  Providence  can  work  with  pretty 
poor  tools." 

"  Poor  tools !  It  would  be  the  first  task  you 
were  ever  found  to  be  a  poor  hand  at,  if  you  were 
to  turn  into  a  philanthropist  and  did  n't  do  it 
well !  " 

His  look  softened,  but  he  kept  on  his  unaccus 
tomed  silence. 

"  Perhaps  you  Ve  been  hiding  an  unknown 
quality  of  benevolence  all  these  years,  and  now 
it  is  just  coming  out !  " 

"  Mebbe  so  —  mebbe  so — but  I  guess  not.  I 
expect  I  'm  a  hard,  knotty  old  stick." 

She  returned  to  her  desk,  truly  grieved  that 
she  could  not  comfort  or  console  him  ;  and  the 
regret  haunted  her  all  day  —  and  longer. 

As  for  him,  he  spent  the  drive  homeward,  and 
the  days  and  weeks  that  followed,  in  a  strange 
train  of  thought.  Dim  glimmerings  of  new  aspi 
rations  animated  him  :  new  views  of  life,  not  quite 
adopted,  but  at  least  contemplated  as  being  among 
the  possibilities,  in  this  world  or  some  other. 

Within  two  or  three  months,  strange  rumors 
begin  to  shake  the  firmament  in  Wayback.  Let 
us  listen  to  the  news. 


A  NIGHTMARE:  ALSO  A  HORSE-SHED.     451 

As  good  a  place  as  any  in  the  world  to  catch 
the  sense  of  a  community  like  this  is  the  "  horse- 
shed  "  that  is  provided  near  every  meeting-house 
and  court-house.  More  politics  are  talked,  and 
more  opinions  formed,  changed,  and  confirmed  in 
the  horse-shed  than  in  any  other  one  locality  in 
the  township  ;  so  much  so,  that  "horse-shedding" 
has  become  a  verb  in  the  vernacular.  Many  a 
lawyer  has  accounted  to  his  client  for  an  adverse 
verdict,  by  such  expressions  as  this  :  — 

"  Oh,  that  feller,  V  his  lawyer,  'n'  their  friends 
has  be'n  a  hoss-sheddm'  them  jurymen !  Yes,  sir- 
ree,  the'  hev,  'n'  I  know  it !  The  facts  was  with 
us,  the  law  was  with  us,  the  bench  was  with  us, 
'n'  the  bar  was  with  us  ;  but  facts  'n'  law,  'n' 
bench  'n'  bar,  is  all  fools  to  a  hoss-shed !  It  '11 
lay  over  'em  every  time  !  " 

Well,  on  a  certain  summer  Sunday  afternoon, 
the  Wayback  meeting-house  was  baking  hot,  the 
minister  was  perspiring,  and  pouring  forth  per- 
fervid  eloquence  —  coatless,  vestless,  collar-less 
and  cravat-less  —  and  there  was  no  wind  blowing 
but  his ;  so,  of  course,  the  horses  out  in  the  cool, 
untroubled  shade  needed  a  great  deal  of  attention. 
No  farmer  was  quite  willing  to  intrust  his  team  to 
the  other  fellows  out  there  —  unless  he  happened 
to  be  sitting  very  near  the  pulpit  and  very  far  from 
the  door.  The  best  seats  in  the  house  —  those  you 
come  to  first  as  you  enter  —  were  consequently  all 
emptied  soon  after  "  firstly,"  by  their  occupants' 
sliding  out  to  attend  to  the  teams  in  the  horse-shed. 

"  Wai,   pards,"  —  in    a    hesitating,    tentative 


452  ZURY. 

voice  as  making  a  suggestion  too  startling  to  be 
lightly  ventured  upon,  —  "  d'  ye  know — Zury 
Praouder  he  's  a-goin'  off  some  ?  " 

"  He  never  wuz  to  hum  no  gre't.  Dunno  's  he 's 
away  more  'n  usial." 

"  Away  thunder  !  He  's  on  the  daownhill ! 
He 's  a-gittin'  old  —  I  don't  say  dotin'.  He  's 
a-losin'  his  grip  !  " 

44  What !  Zury  ?  "  In  chorus,  with  dissenting 
variations. 

"  Wai,  naow  jest  hoi'  on  till  I  tell  ye  what  I  've 
heern  tell.  You  know  when  his  o'  woman  died 
she  left  her  things  'thaout  no  word,  'n'  her  sister 
S'manthy  that 's  lived  thar  fer  ever  'n'  ever  with 
her  growin'  gal,  she  kinder  wanted  'em,  'n'  she 
dropped  hints  raoun'  'mongst  her  own  folks  't 
they  'd  oughter  chip  in  'n'  make  up  a  little  puss 
'n'  buy  'em  offen  Zury  fer  her." 

"  Thasso-thasso,"  said  one  of  the  hearers  who 
had  been  applied  to,  and  would  have  liked  to  go 
on  and  detail  his  reasons  for  not  "chipping  in," 
but  was  headed  off  by  the  more  interesting  subject. 

44  That  ain't  neither  h'yer  ner  thar  —  't  warn't 
done  'n'  the  matter  drapped  ;  'n'  some  'llaowed  th't 
Zury  he  'd  auction  'em  off ;  'n'  some  'llaowed  he  'd 
keep  'em  fer  his  third,  'n'  so  't  went  on.  Wai, 
wha'  d'  ye  think  I  've  heerd  ?  'N'  I  know  it's  so, 
tew !  "  (Here  his  voice  sank  into  an  awestruck 
whisper  that  drew  all  heads  nearer  to  his  wonder- 
uttering  lips.)  u  A  week  ago  this  blessed  day, 
when  S'manthy  wuz  a  clearin'  off  the  breakfV,  at 
half-past  six  in  the  mornin',  Zury  he  tipped  'n' 
told  her  she  c'd  hev  her  sister's  things !  " 


A   NIGHTMARE:   ALSO  A   HORSE-SHED.     453 

A  moment's  pause  here  occurred,  a  silence 
broken  by  expressions  of  amazement  and  disbe 
lief. 

"  Wai,  ye  kin  b'lieve  it  er  not,  —  this  is  a  free 
kedntry,  —  but  either  it 's  a  fact  er  else  S'manthy  's 
a  liar  er  a  looney,  one  o'  th'  six !  She  told  Mis 
Bromwell  on  it  's  soon  's  she  c'd  git  over  thar,  V 
Mis  Bromwell  told  my  wife,  V  my  wife  told 
me,  so  ye  git  it  cheap  's  I  did.  S'manthy  says 
she  was  so  flabbergasted  for  a  minute  she  did  n' 
know  what  tew  dew  —  ye  might  a  knocked  her 
daown  with  a  stick  o'  wood !  Zury  he  jest  went 
aout  V  set  daown  on  th'  door-stone,  V  S'manthy 
she  went  V  leaned  agin  the  door-post  V  told  him 
—  's  well 's  she  could  fer  a-cryin'  's  she  wuz  —  't  her 
Men's  war  n't  a-goin'  t'  dew  nothV  in  the  way  o' 
bnyin'  on  'em  in  fer  her,  's  fur  's  she  c'd  see ;  V 
Zury  he  'llaowed  he  c'd  keep  up  his  eend  o'  the 
double-tree  V  pay  his  debts  'thaout  his  sellin'  his 
wife's  clo's.  'N'  so  it  went.  'N'  what's  more, 
she 's  to  meetin'  this  mornin'  with  one  o'  Mis 
Praouder's  gaounds  on  !  " 

"  Thasso  !  Fust  time  she 's  be'n  t'  meetin'  in  a 
coon's  age ! " 

"  Dew  that,  er  don't  it  —  look  like  Zury  's 
a-breakin'  up  ?  " 

A  sad  silence,  as  in  contemplation  of  the  wreck 
of  a  strong  mind,  brooded  over  the  group ;  a  still 
ness  broken  only  by  the  rustling  of  the  trees,  and 
the  stamping  of  the  fly-bothered  horses,  and  the 
sonorous  shouts  audible  through  the  open  windows 
of  the  meeting-house,  where  the  poor  preacher 


454  ZURY. 

was  showing  his  determination  and  his  ability  to 
keep  some  of  his  hearers  awake  at  all  hazards  and 
at  any  expense. 

"  Looks  like  dotin'  sure  enough." 

"  Naow  look  a-h'yer,  pards,  till  /tell  ye  a  leetle 
on  the  same  side.  Storekeeper  he  's  a-owin'  Zury 
some  rent,  of  course,  —  mebby  a  matter  of  twelve 
dollars,  —  'n'  this  week  Zury  he  upped  'n'  told 
him  haow  S'manthy's  gal,  Alphy,  she  's  a-gittin' 
ready  t'  marry,  'n'  storekeeper  he  wuz  t'  let  her 
git  up  t'  the  vally  o'  the  back  rent,  'n'  he  'd  settle 
it  with  S'manthy  !  " 

"  Wai !  wall  WAL  !  Looks  like  soff'nV  o'  the 
brain  'n  Zury !  Tho'  come  t'  think  it  'd  be  only 
soff'n'n'  o'  the  heart  in  some  folks!  But  when  a 
man  as  hain't  got  no  heart  starts  in  t'  act  so  'course 
it 's  his  brain  that 's  the  matter." 

"  Wai ;  who  '11  we  git  fer  supervisor,  'n'  'sses- 
sor,  'n'  school  d'rector?"  So  the  conversation 
drifted  away  from  the  setting  to  the  rising  star. 
But  before  long  it  was  recalled  to  the  old  theme, 
Zury,  who  was  still,  as  for  a  generation  back,  the 
most  interesting  topic  in  that  horse-shed. 

"  But  look  a-h'yer  men  !  Zury  a-givin'  away 
his  wife's  clo's  looks  as  though  he  did  n't  'llaow 
t'  marry  agin  !  " 

"  Yes  —  or  else  't  he  'llaowed  t'  marry  some  gal 
them  clo's  would  n't  fit,  'n'  't  would  n't  have  'em  's 
a  gift!" 

"  Why  anybody  'd  a  bet  ten  t'  one  Zury  'd  a 
married  agin  afore  this  time  —  that  is,  ef  he'd 
ever  a  took  time  enough  t'  'tend  tew  it !  " 


A  NIGHTMARE:  ALSO  A  HORSE-SHED.     455 

"  'T  don't  take  long  fer  a  man  like  Zury.  All 
he  's  got  t'  dew  is  t'  jest  wink  at  any  gal  in  Spring 
Caounty,  V  she  11  have  her  bunnit  on  'n'  be  on 
the  road  t'  the  Squire's  'fore  he  kin  wink  t'  other 
eye." 

"  The'  wuz  a  talk  one  spell  't  Zury  wuz  a-goin 
for  the  widder  McVey  t'  Springville  —  her  't  kep' 
sculc  here  in  this  very  scule-haouse  one  spell." 

"  She  wuz  chain-lightnin'  then !  Dunno  but 
what  she  is  now.  That  wuz  a  matter  o'  fifteen 
or  twenty  years  ago,  but  I  guess  she  ain't  no 
slaouch  even  naow.  Did  n't  look  so  when  she  wuz 
h'yer  jest  'fore  Zury  got  'lected  t'  th'  legislator. 
But,  then,  that 's  all  past  'n'  gone.  If  he  'd  a  had 
any  idee  in  his  mind  o'  that  kind  he  'd  a  upped 
'n'  done  it  quick  's  his  wife  died." 

"  Wai,  hit  er  miss,  the'  dew  say  's  how  jest  after 
his  wife  died  Zury  he  upped  'n'  got  him  a  new  suit, 
'n'  some  new  teeth,  'n'  went  off  daown  t'  Spring 
ville,  whar  she  lives,  'n'  whar  she  's  a-clerkin'  fer 
the  store  whar  he  gits  his  wholesale  truck." 

"  Oh  sugar  !  Zury  ain't  no  man  t'  up  'n'  marry 
no  ol'  widder  !  Strappin'  gal  baout  nineteen  'd  be 
more  'n'  Zury's  line  th'n  any  ol'  widder ! " 

"  Wai,  some  Smart  Aleck,  daown  t'  th'  Way- 
back  store,  he  upped  'n'  tackled  Zury  'baout  the 
widder  McVey  when  he  got  back ;  'n'  Zury  he 
took  him  by  the  collar  with  one  hand  'n'  by  the 
ear  with  t'  other,  'n'  led  him  aoutside  'n'  said  a  few 
words  t'  the  feller  'd  never  tell  what  they  wuz 
fr'm  that  day  t'  this." 

"  Pr'aps  the  widow  she  would  n't  hev  him !  " 


456  ZURY. 

"  What !  Not  have  Zury  Praouder  !  "  This 
proposition  was  such  a  blatant  absurdity  that  it 
broke  up  the  conclave,  assisted  by  the  fact  that 
the  closing  hymn  marked  the  time  for  hitching  up 
and  driving  round. 

From  these  hints  it  may  be  seen  that  Zury's 
powerful  mind,  set  for  many  a  year  in  certain 
ways,  is  under  stress  of  some  yet  more  powerful  in 
fluence,  and  as  it  seems  to  be  bending  its  course  in 
a  way  which  we,  who  love  him,  highly  approve  of, 
let  us  go  back  to  the  place  whither  his  thoughts 
turn,  in  season  and  out,  with  any  excuse  or  none. 

Now  it  happens  that  in  Springville,  at  the  Mc- 
Vey  cottage,  he  is  again  almost  forgotten.  A  new, 
long,  incurable  grief  has  smitten  the  little  house 
hold.  Phil  has  left  them  !  The  pride  and  joy  of 
those  two  gentle  women's  hearts  has  quitted  the 
maternal  roof  to  seek  promotion  in  his  chosen 
profession.  On  the  little  Springville  railway  he 
could  only  be  a  fireman,  perhaps  for  years  to 
come  ;  on  the  greater  Chicago  and  Galena  road 
he  mounts  the  foot-board  at  once,  a  full-fledged 
engine-driver.  He  is  to  have  charge  of  the  "Pio 
neer,"  the  first  engine  ever  run  out  of  Chicago. 
They  could  not  blame  him  —  they  could  only 
mourn  for  him.  While  he  was  with  them,  praise 
and  blame  were  always  mixed ;  admiration  of  his 
powers  was  tempered  by  disapproval  of  his  un- 
ruliness;  and  wonder  at  his  mechanical  progress 
and  prowess  was  somewhat  balanced  by  regret 
that  he  did  not  take  more  polish  in  an  intellectual 
and  social  way.  But  now  that  he  was  far  away 


A   NIGHTMARE:   ALSO  A   HORSE-SHED.     457 

every  virtue  was  exaggerated  and  every  fault  for 
gotten  ;  so  that  a  stranger,  on  hearing  Anne  and 
Meg  expatiate  on  the  boy's  great  goodness  and 
good  greatness,  would  have  wondered  in  what  part 
of  the  Kosmos  such  paragons  keep  hidden,  that 
they  are  never  visible  to  the  common  eye  —  al 
ways  chance  to  be  in  the  very  place  you  are  not 
acquainted  with — and  what  is  more,  on  meeting 
Phil  they  would  never  recognize  him  from  the 
portrait  painted  for  him  by  motherly  and  sisterly 
love. 

Well,  for  good  or  ill,  he  is  gone.  The  winter 
of  discontent  reigns  in  the  cottage  with  more 
than  usual  gloom.  And  out  of  doors  it  is  autumn, 
late  autumn,  and  the  "  pinch  of  the  year  "  is  ap 
proaching  with  all  its  accustomed  ferocity.  The 
daily  walks  to  and  from  store  and  school  are 
turned  from  pleasure  to  pain,  and  the  cottage  in 
terior  takes  on  a  loneliness  that  is  appalling. 

"Mother,  just  see  how  self-forgetting  Phil  is! 
He  always  speaks  of  our  unhappiness,  never  of  his 
own  !  «  You  will  be  so  lonesome,'  he  writes  ;  when 
we  have  each  other,  and  he  has  nobody  at  all! 
Yet  he  pretends  never  to  think  of  it  in  that  way." 

"  Yes  —  yes  "  —  (musingly)  "  but  the  fact  is, 
Meg,  that  is  truth,  not  affectation.  He  does  not 
suffer  as  we  do." 

"  Now,  mother  !  " 

"  At  your  age  I  might  have  thought  he  was 
pining  for  his  home-women  ;  but  now  I  know  bet 
ter.  It 's  better  so.  No  man  who  is  ever  going 
to  come  to  anything  is  ruled  by  family  affection." 


458  ZURY. 

"  It  '11  never  be  so  with  me  !  "  And  she  clung 
to  her  mother  with  an  almost  painful  intensity. 

"Perhaps  not.  But  Phil  would  say,  'business 
before  pleasure'-— and  even  that  is  a  deception, 
for  in  fact  business  is  his  highest  pleasure." 

"  Would  n't  he  love  to  be  here  holding  our 
hands  in  his  this  minute  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  for  just  about  a  minute.  But  he  'd  love 
better  to  be  driving  the  Pioneer's  snow-plow  at 
full  speed  through  a  blinding  snow-drift ;  as  he 
wrote  in  his  last  of  having  done." 

"  He  seemed  to  enjoy  it,  in  spite  of  the  awful 
danger ;  any  wheel  leaving  the  track  would  have 
meant  death  or  maiming,  he  said." 

"  He  enjoyed  it  all  the  more  on  that  account." 

"  Dear,  dear !  What  a  difference  between  men 
and  women !  Yet  I  like  him  all(the  better  for 
the  difference." 

"Yes,  and  he  likes  us  all  the  better.  What 
man  likes  a  mannish  woman ;  or  what  woman 
does  n't  detest  a  womanish  man  !  Every  boy 
that  is  ever  going  to  be  worth  his  salt,  has  to  be 
weaned  twice  ;  once  as  a  child  and  the  second  time 
as  a  man.  Both  times  it  comes  hard  —  hard  — 
the  first  time  on  the  child,  and  the  second  on  the 
mother." 

"But  if  the  mother  has  a  daughter  that  will 
never  be  weaned  again  "  — 

"  Then  she  is  a  happy,  blessed  mother."  (No 
stage  directions  are  here  needed  to  indicate  the 
by-play.) 

Phil's  letters  were  not  many  nor  fluent.     Sons 


A  NIGHTMARE:  ALSO  A  HORSE-SHED.    459 

are  so  cruel !  Oh,  if  they  only  knew  or  could 
know,  before  it  is  too  late,  what  pains  they  inflict 
and  what  joys  they  withhold  !  From  these  trea 
sured  missives  the  loving  folks  he  had  left  behind 
learned  that  he  had  made  new  friends.  Of  one 
family,  named  Sanders,  he  wrote  with  some  free 
dom  at  first ;  mentioning  among  other  things  that 
Mrs.  Sanders  was  the  prettiest  married  woman  he 
had  ever  seen.  Later  he  went  to  board  with  them, 
and  after  this  he  quite  dropped  that  subject,  and 
even  some  express  questions  asked  in  Meg's  return 
letters  elicited  no  sort  of  response. 

But  of  another  family  he  wrote  longest  and 
oftenest.  These  were  the  Mastens.  Masten  was 
the  young  Methodist  minister  whose  acquaint 
ance  we  made  at  Wayback,  who  married  Eureka 
Anstey  and,  in  the  rotatory  process  peculiar  to  his 
church,  found  himself  at  Galena  with  (as  Prouder 
had  expressed  it)  "  the  largest  following  in  Jo 
Daviess  County."  The  reader  may  remember 
that  Zury  also  suggested  a  remarkable  degree  of 
personal  attractiveness  in  the  eldest  daughter  of 
the  Masten  flock ;  one  named  for  Anne  McVey. 

From  what  Phil  wrote,  Anne  and  Meg  con 
cluded  that  Annie  Masten  was  quite  as  lovely  as 
they  had  heard  she  was  ;  and  partly  from  what  he 
said,  and  partly  from  what  he  refrained  from  say 
ing,  they  further  concluded  that  his  heart  was 
more  touched  by  her  charms  than  he  cared  to  tell. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  LONG   SLEIGH-RIDE. 

MANY,  many  leagues  of  snowy  prairie  lie  be 
tween  Galena  on  the  north  and  Springville  and 
Wayback  in  the  centre,  of  the  huge  State  of  Illi 
nois,  whereof  the  most  northern  point  touches  the 
latitude  of  Boston,  and  the  most  southern  the  lat 
itude  of  Richmond,  Virginia.  On  those  pale  plains 
the  snow  flies  (or  flew  in  those  days)  over  whole 
degrees  of  latitude  and  longitude  without  an  im 
pediment  ;  and  the  wind  sweeps  (or  swept)  with 
no  obstruction  save  the  snow.  You  could  scarcely 
say  the  wind  howled  —  that  would  indicate  that 
it  met  with  some  obstacle  around  which  it  eddied 
and  of  which  it  complained.  It  simply  sped  along 
swift  and  silent,  as  in  mid-sky. 

But  in  the  more  southern  region  of  Springville, 
the  snow  was  some  two  weeks  later  than  up  at 
Galena,  and  during  those  two  weeks  things  hap 
pened  which  were  most  interesting  to  some  of  our 
dramatis  persona,  and  which  may  deserve  some 
attention  from  the  reader. 

Anne's  refusal  of  Zury  Prouder  was,  as  we  have 
seen,  a  rude  shock  which  let  him  know  what  he 
ought  to  have  learned  far  earlier  in  life  —  that  he 
was  not  nearly  the  masterful  man  he  had  always 


A   LONG  SLEIGH-RIDE.  461 

thought  himself,  but  in  reality  a  very  narrow, 
ignorant,  ill-bred,  and  unwise  person,  seeking  for 
happiness  where  only  a  mean,  unworthy,  and  tem 
porary  gratification  can  be  found.  Money-making, 
as  an  end  and  not  a  means  of  life,  is  like  climbing 
a  chimney  that  grows  narrower  toward  the  top ; 
one  reaches  a  place  where  he  can  get  neither  up 
nor  down,  and  is  enveloped  in  dirt  and  darkness 
till  he  dies.  Zury  did  not  say  this  to  himself  in 
words,  but  his  ennui  and  loneliness  said  it  to  him 
daily  and  hourly. 

The  same  old  yearning  led  him  to  the  same  old 
expedient  —  a  sight  of  his  second  idol,  Phil.  For 
this  blessing  he  actually  made  the  great  journey 
to  Galena,  far  away  in  the  northwest. 

In  the  Springville  house,  Anne  and  Margaret 
solaced  their  sadness  with  bright  dreams  —  im 
possible  of  realization  —  called  up  by  a  warm 
invitation  they  had  received  from  the  Mastens  to 
come  to  Galena  for  a  long  visit.  But  alas,  as  has 
been  said,  the  way  is  long,  and  no  railroad  would 
help  them,  except  some  forty  miles  or  so  of  the 
Galena  and  Chicago  Union,  to  reach  which  took 
weary  daj^s  of  overland  travel. 

Zury  Prouder  had  never  called  on  them  after 
the  memorable  afternoon  and  evening  tea  and  talk 
we  have  read  about  in  a  former  chapter.  He  felt 
that  the  answer  was  meant  to  be  final;  and  also, 
in  his  secret  soul,  he  thought  that  it  was  the 
proper  reply  for  a  woman  like  Anne  to  give  to 
a  man  like  himself. 

Months  had  passed  since  Phil  left  Springville 


462  ZURY. 

for  Chicago;  and,  during  this  time,  things  had 
grown  more  humdrum  than  ever.  Margaret's  in 
dignation  at  the  step-fatherhood  and  benefaction 
proposed  by  Zury  to  her  mother  had  become 
moderated,  as  the  strongest  emotions  are  by  Time, 
the  Eater  of  Things. 

On  a  certain  early  winter  day,  behold  Zury 
once  more  at  the  well-remembered  white  gate. 
He  had  privately  passed  it  before,  but  lacked  the 
hardihood  to  enter.  Now  he  hoped,  by  putting 
on  a  courage  he  did  not  feel,  he  might  carry 
through  a  call  successfully.  He  would,  at  least, 
settle  for  himself  the  question  whether  he  was  a 
coward  or  not. 

"  Good  evenin',  Mis  McVey  !  How  is  the  Queen 
of  Springville?  And  the  Princess  ;  how  is  she?" 

Both  ladies  were  well:  Anne  smiling,  though 
embarrassed ;  Margaret  grave  and  self-possessed. 
It  may  be  remarked  that  an  offer  of  marriage 
very  rarely  puts  a  widow  into  a  lasting  and  vin 
dictive  rage,  though  that  same  widow's  grown-up 
daughter  is  apt  to  consider  it  a  personal  insult. 

"  I  was  passin',  an'  jest  drop't  in,  promiscuous- 
like." 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Prouder.  Lay  off  your 
top-coat.  Why  did  n't  you  come  in  in  time  for 
tea?" 

Margaret  could  scarcely  believe  her  ears.  But 
then  —  mother  knew  best. 

"Well,  I  dunno,  I  dunno."  (He  wished  now 
that  he  had  come  in  months  sooner.)  "  Ye  know 
I'm  a  pretty  busy  man.  Have  to  keep  up  my 


A  LONG  SLEIGH-RIDE.  463 

end  o'  the  double-tree.  Must  n't  quite  lose  my 
reputation  as  the  —  as  a  man  of  business." 

44  Have  you  been  very  well  ?  " 

44  Who,  me  ?  Well,  so  as  to  be  able  to  lean 
upon  my  elbow  and  take  my  medicine."  (This 
with  a  chuckle  in  view  of  his  invariable  health.) 

44  What 's  the  news  over  at  Wayback  ?  " 

44  News  ?  Why  the'  ain't  none.  Stock  's  gen- 
er'ly  good  an'  fat  for  winter.  Ground  hain't  been 
froze  hard  enough  to  git  inter  the  field  an'  gather 
corn  to  speak  of.  But  the  farmers'  boys  will  soon 
be  thrashin'  their  arms  and  blowin'  their  fingers  in 
the  corn-fields.  Dunno  's  you  know  it,  but  husk- 
in'  and  wagenin'  corn  's  the  all-firedest  coldest  job 
th't  ever  was  given  out  since  Adam  was  a  babe." 

44 It  must  be!  Very  little  exercise  —  just  walk 
ing  along  and  taking  hold  of  one  bitter-cold  ear 
after  another,  and  stripping  off  those  icy  husks ! 
But  I  never  thought  of  it." 

44  Of  course  ye  did  n't !  Why  should  ye  ?  Ye  'd 
leave  some  of  them  little  white  fingers  of  yours 
behind  ye  on  the  ground  before  ye  got  to  the  end 
of  the  second  row  !  " 

44 1  'd  stop  before  my  fingers  froze  off !  Or  run 
in  the  house  and  get  my  mittens." 

44  And  have  th'  ole  man  after  ye  with  th'  halter- 
strap?  And  all  the  women -folks  laughin'  at  ye! 
Ye  can't  do  no  job  of  work  in  a  corn-field  with 
mittens  on  ! " 

44  How  are  the  Ansteys  ?  " 

44  Well,  now  ye  speak  of  it,  o'  man  Anstey  has 
been  kinder  ailin'  like,  —  jest  downcy,  not  bedfast, 


464  ZURY. 

—  but  o'  woman  Anstey,  she 's  been  good  and 
sick ! " 

44  Poor  things  !  How  in  the  world  do  they  get 
along?" 

44  Oh,  they  ain't  bad  off.  Th'  neighbors  drop 
round  and  feed  'em  their  medicine.  The  young- 
uns,  they  've  come  along.  Bijah,  he  's  marr'd  and 
fetched  his  woman  home  —  right  peart  of  a  gal, 
too,  when  she 's  able  to  get  round  to  work,  which 
ain't  very  often,  seein'  she  's  got  three  of  her  own 
and  on  her  fourth  a'ready.  Silas,  he 's  doin'  the 
heft  of  the  work  on  the  place  besides  what  Bijah 
does." 

44  And  brother  Bromwell  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Omri  Bromwell,  he 's  a-gittin'  pretty  near 
once  through.  May  last  a  spell  yet,  though.  Had 
to  joke  him  a  leetle  last  time  I  saw  him.  Says  I, 
4  Brother  Omri,  how  old  are  you  anyway?  '  Says 
lie,  *  Nigh  onto  seventy-six.'  Says  I,  4  Seventy- 
six  !  Sho !  ye  hold  your  age  well !  I  sh'd  have 
thought  ye  was  a  hunderd ! '  But  would  ye  have 
believed  it,  th'  old  man  did  n't  like  it !  Gettin' 
childish,  and  dotin'  a  leetle  !  " 

44  Well,  I  should  n't  have  liked  it  myself  !  " 

44  You !  Sakes  alive  ;  it  would  be  a  bold  man 
would  say  you  held  your  age  well !  Ye  hain't 
got  no  age  to  hold !  Which  is  mother  an'  which 
is  daughter,  anyhow  ?  Hain't  ye  lost  count  some 
way  ?  Got  changed  in  yer  cradles  or  something  ?  " 

44  You  shan't  call  my  daughter  older  than  I 
am  ! "  And  the  two  women  gently  embraced 
each  other. 


A  LONG  SLEIGH-RIDE.  465 

"  'T  ain't  that  she  's  older  than  you ;  it 's  you  that 
are  younger  than  she  is  !  That 's  where  it  is.  But 
sho  !  That 's  neither  here  nor  there.  Age  and 
youth  's  all  one,  an'  we  're  noth'n'  but  poor  worms 
in  th'  sight  of  th'  Almighty." 

When  Zury  had  been  frivolous  he  liked  to 
"  even  up  his  averages  "  by  an  extra  pious  senti 
ment. 

"  My  son  writes  me  that  he  saw  you  in  Galena." 

"Who,  Phil?  Did  he  write  that,  though? 
There  now  !  "  (This  with  a  glowing  and  gratified 
smile.)  "  I  was  comin'  to  that.  Mighty  powers, 
ain't  he  chain  lightnin'  ?  " 

Zury's  eyes  danced  and  his  cheek  glowed  with 
an  admiration  which  he  was  powerless  fully  to 
express.  He  went  on  for  a  full  hour  to  detail 
what  he  had  observed  in  his  watching  of  Phil  on 
a  certain  day  when  he  had  made  his  acquaintance 
on  the  "  Pioneer,"  and  on  other  occasions.  The 
two  women  listened  spell-bound,  both  for  the  sake 
of  the  subject,  and  the  rude,  grotesque,  pictur 
esque  force  of  the  plain  man's  diction.  If  Zury 
had  had  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent,  and  had  be 
gun  his  ill-starred  courtship  with  such  an  hour's 
talk  as  this,  no  widowed  mother  in  the  state  could 
have  hoped  to  withstand  his  eloquence  anft*  refuse 
his  suit. 

"  But  here  I  am,  like  an  old  dromedary,  talkin' 
ye  to  death  an'  never  say  in'  what  I  came  a-pur- 
pose  to  say.  It 's  this  :  I  've  got  to  team  it  up  to 
Galeny  as  soon  as  the  snow  flies.  Now  you  two 
jest  put  on  your  bonnets  an'  go  along." 


466  ZURY. 

44  Oh  —  Mr.  Prouder  —  you  take  my  breath 
away ! " 

"  Well,  a  week's  ride  against  a  north  wind  '11 
be  liable  to  give  it  back  to  ye.1' 

"  It  would  change  your  journey  altogether.  If 
you  went  alone  you  'd  take  a  single  cutter." 

44  Why,  bless  your  simple  soul !  A  single  cutter 
'd  never  get  there  !  The  hoss  could  n't  travel  on 
the  divide ;  he  'd  have  to  go  either  in  the  nigh 
hoss-track  or  the  off  boss-track,  an'  then  where  'd 
your  runners  be  ?  Unless  ye  had  one  of  these 
lop-sided  nut-shells,  an'  that  would  n't  begin  to 
stand  the  wear  an'  tear.  Never  you  mind  me.  I 
know  which  side  my  bread's  buttered  on  ! " 

44  Well,  it 's  no  use.  I  could  n't  either  take  the 
store  books  along,  or  keep  them  while  I  was  gone ; 
nor  expect  to  pick  up  my  job  again  when  I  got 
back.  Much  obliged  to  you  all  the  same  !  It 's 
the  kindest  offer  I  ever  had  in  my  life." 

44  Not  by  one  that  I  know  of.  Now,  as  to  the 
store  job,  jest  leave  that  to  me.  They  're  tryin' 
to  sell  me  a  big  bill  of  goods,  and  I  've  got  'em 
down  to  bottom  figgers  so  far,  an'  was  goin'  to 
close  the  whack  in  the  mornin'  anyway.  Now, 
I  '11  go  to  th'  old  man  and  tell  him  I  '11  do  it,  if 
he  '11  have  them  books  took  care  of  whilst  you  're 
gone,  and  kept  for  ye  when  ye  git  back.  See? 
'T  won't  cost  him  a  cent  'cause  he  '11  make  the 
junior  pardner  do  the  work." 

44  Oh,  Meg!  To  see  Phil  at  home!  And 
Eureka !  And  my  pretty  namesake  !  " 

44  Mother !  don't  you  dare  to  think  of  letting 
the  chance  slip  by !  " 


A   LONG  SLEIGH-RIDE.  467 

Three  happy  hearts  in  Springville  that  night ! 
Three  happy  hearts  in  Galena  when  the  letter 
came  detailing  the  plan  !  Which  was  the  most 
utterly  joyful,  —  the  yearning  mother,  the  tender 
daughter  and  sister,  the  son,  who  had  a  double 
gain  to  hope  for,  in  seeing  his  beloved  women,  and 
showing  them  off  to  Annie  Masten?  Or  was  it, 
after  all,  the  contriver  and  author  of  the  whole 
scheme  of  affection  and  delight,  Usury  Prouder  ? 
The  hard  man,  to  whom  love  was  so  rare,  benev 
olence  such  an  unaccustomed  luxury,  and  the  ex 
ercise  of  power  and  patronage  such  a  soul-satisfy 
ing  happiness ! 

"  When  the  snow  flies."  This  means  a  great 
deal  to  the  dwellers  in  the  country,  where  weather 
of  all  kinds,  especially  bitter  weather,  has  an  im 
portance  which  city-people  can  scarcely  conceive 
of.  In  due  time  the  snow  flew,  and  later  the  snow 
lay  on  the  ground,  even  down  in  the  latitude  of 
Springville.  Starting  with  fair  sleighing,  they 
were  pretty  sure  of  finding  it  improve  as  they 
journeyed  north.  Zury  took  his  best  team,  which 
is  saying  not  a  little.  He  also  took  seventeen 
fine  crocks  of  butter,  stowed  where  it  would  be  in 
nobody's  way  but  his  own.  (Butter  was  worth 
at  the  lead  mines  exactly  double  what  it  was  at 
Wayback.)  Robes  and  rugs,  peltries  and  blankets, 
made  the  women  absolutely  insensible  to  cold, 
while  Zury  sat  up,  brave  and  gay,  with  no  outside 
wraps  except  his  shaggy  coat,  cap,  gloves,  and 
boots,  looking  like  a  very  good  representation  of 
a  middle-aged  Santa  Glaus. 


468  ZURY. 

They  were  not  to  go  by  the  sleigh  further  than 
the  nearest  point  on  the  railroad.  There  they 
would  meet  some  of  those  whom  they  had  come 
so  far  to  see,  and  go  on  by  freight-train  to  Galena. 
This  arrangement  was  admirably  made  (under 
Zury's  directions)  and  the  very  day  for  the  meet 
ing  fixed  by  means  of  a  letter  which,  traveling 
night  and  day  by  mail,  reached  Galena  in  half  the 
time  it  must  take  them  to  get  there. 

Prouder  was  a  fine  traveling-companion.      He 
could  talk,  could  listen,  could  be  silent,  and  endure 
silence  in  others.     The  relationship  of  fellow-trav 
eler  is  a  most  trying  one,  as  many  a  bridal-trip 
has  shown.      The  time  is  apt  to  come  when  it 
would  be  a  relief  for  the  weary  wanderers  to  meet 
a  friend,    "  or  even  an   enemy,"  as  Punch   says. 
Now  Zury  seemed  ready,  at  a  moment's   notice, 
with  his  best  thoughts,  looks,  words,  and  actions, 
at  each  and  every  hour  of   the  twenty-four.     The 
impression  he  made  upon  Anne  and  her  daughter 
improved  daily;    but   alas,  truth   must  be  told! 
Anxious  as  he  was  to  please,  careful  as  he  was  to 
behave  himself  as  much  like  "  highflyers  "  as  his 
observation  and  memory  enabled  him  to  do,  still, 
what  was  bred  in  the  bone  would  not  come  out  of 
the  flesh,  and  he  failed  signally :  though  it  was 
but  in  one  point  and  by  a  hair's-breadth,  yet  it  was 
a  failure.     This  was  the  nature  of  it.     He  carried 
a  fine,  large  handkerchief,  and  flourished  it  expres 
sively  ;  yea,  and  blew  mighty  blasts  thereon,  like 
Wouter  Van  Twiller ;  but,  unhappily,  he  used  it 
economically !      Instead    of    making  it  his  main 


A  LONG  SLEIGH-RIDE.  469 

reliance,  he  treated  it  as  a  reserve  or  auxiliary 
force  !  A  sad  and  fatal  error. 

Stopping  at  noons  and  nights,  sometimes  at  a 
city,  oftener  at  a  village  tavern,  but  oftenest  at 
some  roadside  farmhouse,  they  made  nearly  fifty 
miles  a  day ;  piecing  out  the  short  days  by  an 
occasional  spin  in  the  moonlight  when  roads  and 
weather  favored.  They  reached  the  railroad  on 
the  day  before  that  set  for  their  meeting  with 
their  Galena  friends ;  and  on  the  morrow,  by  the 
first  train,  came  Phil  and  Sam  Sanders,  his  fire 
man,  bringing  Mrs.  Masten  (Anne's  old  scholar) 
and  her  daughter  Annie.  What  a  union  and  re 
union  ! 

Eureka  had  developed  into  a  typical  parson's 
wife  :  dutiful,  motherly,  tactful,  and  somewhat 
pious  ;  albeit  perceptibly  less  church-y  than  of  old, 
through  a  certain  disillusionment  that  comes  from, 
being  behind  the  scenes  and  knowing  all  the  ropes, 
from  flies  to  traps,  from  pulpit-lungs  to  organ- 
bellows.  Annie  Masten  was  all  their  fancy  had 
painted  her,  and  more. 

Prouder  started  early  toward  Galena,  with  his 
sleigh.  Then,  after  dinner,  all  the  rest  took  the 
"  Way-freight-train  "  for  the  same  point.  Anne 
and  Margaret  had  sometimes  ridden  in  a  "  ca 
boose,"  or  freight-conductor's  car,  when  Phil  was  a 
fireman,  but  to  the  others  it  was  a  new  experience. 

The  caboose  is  always  the  rear  car  of  the  freight- 
train.  It  is  usually  a  long,  empty  box-car,  with 
great  sliding  doors,  open  to  the  floor,  in  the  mid 
dle  of  each  side,  and  a  door  at  each  end.  A  red- 


470  ZURY. 

hot  stove,  sitting  in  a  box  of  sand,  and  braced  to 
the  floor  on  all  sides,  keeps  it  warm  in  winter. 
The  whole  length  of  the  sides,  except  where  the 
doors  are,  is  occupied  with  long,  narrow  boxes  for 
fuel  and  tools,  cushioned  over  to  serve  as  seats  and 
beds  for  the  train-hands.  A  jagged  bit  of  looking- 
glass  is  always  tacked  up  near  some  window  ;  and 
the  walls  are  covered  with  time-cards  and  regula 
tions  for  running  trains,  with  here  and  there  a 
picture  of  a  fine  horse,  or  a  red-cheeked  beauty, 
or  a  war-hero,  or  some  other  work  of  art  which 
brakeman  or  conductor  has  deemed  worthy  of  a 
place  in  his  rude  picture  gallery. 

These  free  and  simple  surroundings,  together 
with  the  low  speed,  and  the  liberty  to  wander 
here  and  there  and  look  out  at  sides  and  ends, 
make  a  ride  on  a  freight-train  more  like  a  picnic 
than  an  ordinary  and  orderly  journey. 

Before  the  train  started  Annie  said,  — 

"  Why,  Sam  ;  where  's  Phil  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  's  aout  ahead  talkin'  to  Jack  Dougher 
ty,  the  engineer  ;  mos'  likely  tellin'  him  t'  start  V 
stop  kinder  easy,  so  's  not  t'  jerk  you  women  folks 
out  o'  the  rear  door  every  time  he  gives  her  steam 
t'  go  ahead." 

"  Why,  isn't  he  going  to  ride  with  us?  " 

"  Oh  yes  —  never  fear,  he  '11  be  back." 
•  "  What  a  long  train  !  "   said   Annie,  who   was 
looking  out. 

"  'Baout  twenty  cars.  See  Phil  away  ahead 
thar,  'long  side  the  engine  ?  Thar !  Dougherty 
's  whistled  4  off  brakes; '  now  look  out,  she  's  a-start- 


A  LONG  SLEIGH-RIDE.  471 

in' !  Ketch  a  holt  of  the  side  o'  the  door,  like 
that ;  so."  And  they  started. 

"  Why,  Phil 's  left!  "  cried  Annie.  "  We  're  off, 
and  he 's  standing  there  yet !  " 

"  Oh,  he  's  jest  a-waiting  for  us  to  come  along." 

"  But  we  are  going  faster  and  faster  all  the 
time !  " 

"  That  don't  faze  Phil,  not  a  mite  ;  twelve  mile 
an  hour  gittin'  on,  er  twenty  mile  an  hour  gittin' 
off  suits  Phil  's  well  's  anything  else." 

In  a  minute  or  two  the  open  door  flashed  past 
Phil  as  he  stood,  and  Sam  leaned  out  to  see  him 
"  make  it."  Phil  only  nipped  his  cigar  a  little 
more  firmly  between  his  teeth,  grasped  the  hand 
rail  as  it  passed,  swung  himself  on  the  rear  step, 
and  —  went  on  smoking. 

"See?"  said  Sam.  "He  didn't  never  think 
noth'n'  abaout  it ;  jest  lighted  on  the  platform  like 
a  green-head  on  a  yearling  colt.  Why  —  wha  — 
what's  the  matter?" 

This  to  Annie,  who  was  sitting  on  a  bench  and 
leaning  back  against  the  wall,  her  face  colorless, 
lips  open,  lower  eyelids  relaxed,  hands  hanging  at 
her  sides ;  in  short,  as  Sam  said,  "  lookin'  's  though 
she  did  n't  take  no  interest  in  things.  Did  n't 
keer  whether  school  kep'  er  not !  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  she,  recovering  herself 
with  a  deep  breath  ;  and  then  she  rose  and  steadied 
herself  by  the  side  of  the  car  till  she  reached  the 
little  mirror,  by  help  of  which  she  re-arranged  her 
pretty  hat,  disordered  by  its  heedless  contact  with 
the  wall  when  she  sat  down  so  suddenly. 


472  ZURY. 

44  Phil  ! "  said  Meg,  calling  him  at  the  back 
door,  "  come  in  here  this  minute  !  Did  n't  you 
promise  mother  and  me  you  'd  never  take  any 
needless  risks  ?  " 

"Risks?" 

44  Yes,  risks  !  You  just  got  on  to  this  car  going 
at  full  speed." 

44  Well,  if  I  'd  gone  slow  I  should  n't  have  got 
on." 

44  Nonsense  !  You  know  what  I  mean  !  You 
got  on  when  the  car  was  going  at  full  speed !  " 

44 1  held  it  back  all  I  could,  the  minute  I  got 
hold  of  it,  but  I  could  n't  make  it  go  any  slower." 

44  You  '11  be  killed,  getting  on  cars  in  motion  in 
that  way ! " 

44  See  here,  Meg ;  gettin'  on  cars  in  motion 
never  killed  a  man  yet.  It 's  gettin'  under  'em 
that  hurts !  If  you  ever  catch  me  doin'  that  you 
may  scold." 

44  Well,  when  you  are  killed  I  hope  you  '11  be 
satisfied ! " 

44 1  expect  to  be,  perfectly.  And  if  I  am  not,  I 
promise  you  I  won't  complain." 

44  Who  is  that  young  man  writing  in  a  book  bal 
anced  on  his  left  arm  ?  "  asked  Meg  of  Sam  San 
ders  a  few  minutes  later.  44 1  don't  see  how  he 
can  write,  staggering  about  so  !  " 

44  Oh,  that 's  the  corn-doctor.  I  '11  interdooce  ye 
tew  him  in  a  minute,  soon  's  he  gits  threw  en- 
terin'  his  way-bills." 

44  The  corn-doctor !  " 

4'  Oh  yes  —  but  yew  hain't  no  need  t'  be  afeared 
on  him  ;  yer  hat 's  chalked,  good." 


A  LONG  SLEIGH-RIDE.  473 

"  My  hat?"  And  the  bewildered  young  wo 
man  raised  her  hand  to  the  "  chalked  "  article. 

Annie  soon  explained  to  her  that  in  Sam's 
vocabulary  a  "  corn-doctor "  meant  a  conductor, 
and  a  "  chalked  hat "  meant  a  free  pass. 

Then  Phil  and  his  mother  had  a  long,  long  talk, 
while  Margaret  and  Annie  learned  all  they  could 
about  railroading  from  the  caboose  point  of  view. 
The  two  girls  u  foregathered  "  amazingly.  Each 
seemed  to  have  been  all  her  life  looking  for  some 
body  just  like  the  other — never  found  till  now. 
They  fell  in  love  with  each  other,  and  each  se 
cretly  wished  they  might  never  part  more. 

Phil  could  n't  help  wondering  why  his  mother 
did  n't  begin  at  once  talking  about  Annie  Hasten, 
and  keep  on  the  same  subject  for  the  rest  of  the 
day.  Yet  he  could  not  start  the  topic  himself. 
His  mother,  meanwhile,  did  not  have  to  ask  him 
about  Annie  ;  she  knew  it  all  beforehand  by  moth 
erly  instinct. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  engi 
neer  gave  the  signal  he  and  Phil  had  agreed  upon 
to  announce  that  Prouder  and  his  team  were  in 
sight ;  and  all  went  to  the  doors  and  windows, 
and  made  the  car  gay  with  fluttering  handker 
chiefs  and  waving  hats.  Prouder  put  his  horses 
at  a  gallop,  and  kept  within  hearing  distance  for 
almost  a  minute,  while  Phil,  at  his  mother's  re 
quest,  shouted,  — 

"  They  say  they  owe  all  this  to  you !" 

Prouder  lifted  his  hat,  and,  as  he  pulled  up  his 
panting  team,  asked  himself  with  a  cool,  critical 
expression, — 


474  ZURY. 

"  Lessee,  lessee ;  o'  man  Zury,  did  ye  or  did  n't 
ye  ever  hear  sweeter  music  'n'  that  in'  all  yer  born 
days?" 

His  thoughts  wandered  back  to  the  voices  of 
his  dead  sister  and  his  dead  boys,  and  his  heart 
grew  so  soft  that  he  had  to  shake  himself  to 
gether  with  an  effort  and  say :  "  Zury !  Look 
aout !  Mebbe  ye  're  dotin' !  Ye  know  there  's 
no  fool  like  an  old  fool ! " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

AMARI   ALIQUID. 

As  has  been  often  said,  the  happiest  states  of 
life  furnish  poorest  materials  for  the  story-teller. 
"Blessed  is  a  land  without  mountains,  a  people 
without  a  history,  and  a  life  without  events." 
"  No  news  is  good  news  "  in  family  life.  When 
Phil  was  away  on  his  engine,  his  loving  women 
simply  looked  forward  to  his  return,  and  that  re 
turn,  when  it  came,  paid  them  for  their  waiting. 

Zury  Prouder  had  bought  a  "  lead-hill,"  and  he 
and  Phil  were  preparing  to  open  one  or  more 
lead  mines  and  their  accompanying  works  as  soon 
as  the  spring  should  open.  Then  Phil  would  leave 
the  railroad,  and  begin  to  become  a  solid,  prosper 
ous  business  man,  with  unlimited  capital  to  back 
him  !  Happy  dreams  for  his  mother,  and  Meg, 
and —  perhaps  some  others. 

There  were  two  sprigs  of  bitterness  in  Anne's 
cup  —  one  the  ever-present  consciousness  of  the 
near  approach  of  a  new  parting;  the  other  a 
sprout  from  seed  unconsciously  sown  by  loqua 
cious  Sam  Sanders. 

The  coming  departure  was  a  common  grief. 

Said  the  minister,  sonorous  and  splendid,  — 

"  Mrs.  McVey,  your  stay  with  us  is  like  the 


476  ZURY. 

shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land.  Eure- 
ka's  spirit  feels  your  influence  like  the  balm  of 
Gilead.  In  her  girlhood  it  was  the  chiefest 
blessing  bestowed  on  her  by  a  kind  Providence  ; 
and  now  in  her  —  maturity  —  it  once  more  sheds 
peace  and  happiness  upon  her,  and  at  the  same 
time  on  us  all." 

"  Now,  father  !  "  protested  Annie,  in  expostula- 
tory  tones  ;  "  you  talk  as  if  you  were  officiating 
at  somebody's  funeral,  and  praising  the  influence 
of  the  dear  departed  !  " 

"Annie,  my  daughter  !  There  is  nobody  else 
who  dares  to  talk  to  your  father  as  you  do  !  " 
Eureka  said  deprecatingly. 

"  Well,  mother,  he  must  have  somebody  to 
take  him  down.  The  rest  of  his  congregation  — 
you  among  them  —  just  grovel  at  father's  feet! 
My  business  is  to  go  on  saying  to  him,  4  Alex 
ander,  thou  too  art  mortal,'  to  keep  him  from  get 
ting  spoiled  by  the  worship  of  foolish  females." 

"  Well,  my  daughter,  I  suppose  it  is  good  for 
me.  A  prophet  is  not  without  honor  save  in  his 
own  country.  As  Saint  Paul  says,  no  'chastise 
ment  is  for  the  present  joyous,  but  grievous,  but 
after  it  yieldeth  the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteous 
ness  to  them  that  are  exercised  thereby.'  Now  I 
thought  you  would  be  a  staff  to  my  declining 
years !  "  The  good  man  smiled  on  his  lovely 
daughter  in  a  way  that  showed  he  loved  her  none 
the  less  for  her  chiding. 

"  So  I  am,  father  !  Your  staff,  —  of  course,  — 
your  rod  and  your  staff.  You  know  rods  and 


AMARI  AL1QUID.  477 

staves  have  various  uses :  they  guide  folks  when 
held  in  the  hand,  and  also  when  laid  over  the 
back." 

"  I  'm  afraid  he  did  not  keep  one  handy  when 
you  were  growing  up,  Annie,"  said  Meg. 

"  No,  that 's  true !  They  don't  grow  on  the 
prairie.  He  spared  the  rod  and  spoiled  the 
child." 

"  Well,  not  exactly  spoiled  her.  Only  kept  her 
down  to  a  reasonable  degree  of  angelical-ness  — 
so  her  wings  should  n't  sprout  before  their  time." 

"  No,  Mrs.  McVey,  I  insist  that  I  am  spoiled. 
If  I  had  been  properly  treated  I  should  be  like 
the  dear  woman  I  am  named  for." 

"  Well,  my  love,  it 's  not  too  late.  You  can  be 
brought  under  wholesome  discipline  yet.  Bub 
wait  till  next  week.  Wait  till  we  are  gone  back 
to  Springville.  Be  just  as  you  are,  till  then." 

"  Now,  now  !  "  cried  Annie,  clapping  her  hands 
to  her  ears,  "  I  will  not  hear  of  your  going !  I  am 
spoiled  enough  to  have  my  own  way  about  that." 

"  Why,  my  dear,  we  must  go  sometime,  and  we 
ought  to  have  gone  before." 

"I  see  you  are  talking,  but  I  cannot  hear  a 
word." 

"Oh  well,  then,"  said  Phil,  "we'll  change 
the  subject." 

"  Then  I  '11  open  my  ears  again,"  responded  the 
thoughtless  girl,  taking  down  her  hands.  "  Why, 
what  are  you  all  laughing  at  me  for  ?  " 

"  Oho,  Miss  Pretense  !  If  your  ears  were  shut, 
how  did  you  know  what  Phil  said  ?  " 


478  ZURY. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  see  —  I  knew  Phil  wouldn't 
talk  about  that  horrid  subject;  so  when  I  saw 
him  open  his  lips  I  just  —  listened  a  leetle  bit.'* 

44  Ya-as,"  put  in  Sam  Sanders,  "  I  'bserve  that 
whenever  Phil  speaks  yer  ears  are  tight  open  !  " 

All  laughed  at  this  highly  personal  remark,  and 
as  Annie  blushed  a  good  deal  and  seemed  morti 
fied,  Sam  hastened  to  qualify  it :  — 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  mean  yew  particular,  Miss  Mas- 
ten.  All  the  women  are  the  same  way.  Thar's 
Dolly,  naow ;  n'  matter  if  the  rest  is  all  talkin' 
theirselves  blind,  it  don't  take  more  'n  a  whisper 
fr'm  Phil*fer  her  t'  ketch  right  on  tew." 

Now  it  was  Phil's  turn  to  look  foolish,  and  a 
sudden  awkwardness  fell  on  all  the  group,  which 
Anne  silently  noticed  and  wondered  at. 

Said  Zury,  "  I  don't  see  no  call  for  ye  to  hurry 
off  so  sudden.  Don't  go  on  my  account.  My 
time  's  well  spent  on  the  lead-mine  hill,  an'  my 
team  in  the  tavern  livery  is  earnin'  their  keep  an' 
more  too." 

"  Oh,  surely.  We  won't  go  on  anybody's  ac 
count  but  our  own,"  said  Anne,  "and  only  on 
our  own  because  we  must  sacrifice  the  delights  of 
Galena  to  the  duties  of  Springville." 

As  soon  as  she  could  have  a  talk  with  Sam 
alone,  she  suddenly  asked  him,  "  Who  's  Dolly, 
Mr.  Sanders?" 

44  Why,  Dolly  Sanders  —  my  brother  Jim's  old 
woman." 

44  Old  woman?  I  thought  she  was  —  rather 
young." 


AMARf  ALIQUID.  479 

"  Young  ?  So  she  is.  She  thinks  she 's  awful 
young,  though  I  guess  she 's  old  enough  to  vote, 
an'  would  n't  tear  under  the  wing.  But  ye  know 
we  call  every  man's  wife  his  '  Old  Woman  '  —  jest 
for  short,  like." 

"  Oh,  I  see  !     Well,  tell  me  about  Dolly." 

"  Why,  what  abaout  her  ?  " 

"  Well,  is  she  pretty  ?  " 

"Pretty?  Oh,  she '11  pass  in  a  craowd  !  "  (This 
with  a  series  of  winks  of  each  eye  in  rapid  alter 
nation.  Then,  straightening  his  face :)  "  But 
she  can't  hold  a  candle  t'  Annie  Hasten  !  No,  not 
a  blowd-out  candle  with  the  wick  pinched  short 
off!" 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  McVey,  somewhat  re 
lieved. 

Then  Sam,  wishing  to  be  polite,  and  to  express 
friendly  sentiments,  must  needs  "  shoot  off  his 
mouth"  some  more,  and  of  course  "put  his  foot 
in  it." 

"  We  '11  all  be  awful  sorry  t'  have  ye  go !  Any 
mother  o'  Phil  McVey's  would  always  be  welcome 
'mongst  them  that  knows  him.  The  women  folks 
'11  jest  cry  their  eyes  out  —  all  that  is,  unless 
mebbe  it  's  Dolly."  * 

"  Why,  what  difference  can  it  make  to  her  — 
away  off  in  Chicago  ?  " 

"Oh,  no  difference  at  all!  Of  course — not  a 
mite !  Phil  ain't  nothin'  t'  Dolly  but  a  kind  o' 
sort  of  a  brother  ;  'n'  livin'  in  th'  house  's  he  dooz, 
'n'  Jim  away  on  th'  road  jest  when  Phil's  to  hum 
—  'n'  theayters,  'n'  concerts,  'n'  one  thing  an 
other." 


480  ZURY. 

Anne  felt  a  strange  sinking  of  the  heart  —  an 
actual  physical  tension,  as  if  some  of  the  "  invol 
untary  muscles"  had  contracted  spontaneously 
and  unnaturally.  One  watching  her  would  have 
seen  that  the  blood  left  her  face,  the  lines  deep 
ened,  and  she  looked  older  than  she  ever  had 
looked  in  her  life.  Motherly  anxiety,  womanly 
jealousy,  friendly  alarm  on  Annie  Masten's  ac 
count  —  all  seemed  to  seize  on  this  little  hook  of 
uncertainty  and  raise  themselves  to  dreadful  pro 
portions.  Luckily,  dull  Sam  observed  nothing, 
and  soon  took  his  leave. 

"  Philip,  my  son.  What  did  Sam  mean  by  what 
he  said  about  Dolly  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Sam  's  a  born  fool !  Don't  pay  any  atten 
tion  to  what  he  says ! "  said  Phil,  evidently  dis 
turbed. 

"  No,  but  I  '11  pay  attention  to  what  you  say ; 
if  you  '11  only  be  frank  with  your  mother  and  tell 
her  truly  all  about  it." 

"All  about  it?  There  is  nothing  to  tell," 
responded  the  youth,  surly  and  guarded  to  a  de 
gree  that  added  to  Anne's  distress. 

"  Are  you  —  attentive  to  her  ?  " 

44 1  board  with  her,  and  pay  her  my  board." 
("  So  he  is  not  going  to  tell  me  he  ever  took  her 
to  the  theatre.") 

44  Is  that  all,  dear  ?  " 

44  Of  course  it  is !  What  more  should  there 
be?" 

"  There  should  not  be  anything  —  but  there 
might  be." 


AMARI  ALIQUID.  481 

"  Well,  mother,  there  is  n't." 

He  answered,  truly  enough,  to  the  letter ;  for 
certain  attentions  he  had  bestowed  on  Dolly  had 
lately  ceased.  His  thoughts  were  now  full  of 
Annie  Masten  —  and  of  his  mother  and  sister. 
If  Arine  had  asked  him  about  the  past,  he  would 
have  had  to  tell  her  a  very  different  story,  or  keep 
silent  —  or  "lie  like  a  gentleman  "  as  the  phrase 
is  where  a  man  tells  a  falsehood  to  shield  a  woman 
from  having  her  name  unfortunately  linked  with 
his.  But  Anne  did  not  know  this.  She  had  got 
a  glimpse  of  the  past  and  guessed  nothing  of  any 
change  —  any  difference  between  past  and  present. 

His  mother  moved  her  chair  close  to  Phil's, 
and  drew  his  head  to  her  shoulder  with  an  inex 
pressible  tenderness.  But  even  as  she  did  so,  she 
perceived  that  it  was  a  man  she  had  to  deal  with 
—  not  her  baby  any  longer.  He  was  a  separate 
person  —  not  part  of  herself,  now. 

"  Oh,  my  son  !    Don't  you  love  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Now,  mother  !  What  have  I  ever  done  or  left 
undone  that  you  should  ask  such  a  question  as 
that?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Phil.  I  want  you  to  tell  me. 
And  you  refuse ! "  Here  she  broke  down  and 
cried  helplessly. 

Then  Phil  kissed  her  and  took  her  in  his  arms 
in  his  turn,  caressing  and  trying  to  comfort  and 
reassure  her. 

"  Mother  dear,  I  never  stay  in  Chicago  a  min 
ute  when  I  can  be  with  you,  and  when  I  am  there 
I  only  long  for  the  time  when  I  can  get  back  to 


482  ZURY. 

Galena.  There  is  no  woman  there  who  holds  any 
place  in  my  heart  or  my  thoughts,  compared  with 
—  you  all.  Now  dont  be  foolish !  Do  trust  me  !  " 

She  did  the  best  she  could.  But  it  seemed  to 
her  that  she  had  always  been  dreading  just  such  a 
horrible  failing  in  her  son's  life  as  Sam  had  hinted 
at,  —  and  Phil  had  not  satisfactorily  denied  it, 
even  now. 

During  the  remainder  of  their  stay,  Phil  re 
doubled  his  .efforts  to  make  them  all  happy  — 
Anne  especially,  and  she  got  over  her  alarm  in 
some  measure.  No  one  could  resist  his  efforts  to 
please,  and  his  mother,  when  with  him,  felt  as  if 
it  was  impossible  that  his  frank  gayety  and  his  un 
disguised  admiration  for  her  beautiful  namesake, 
Annie  Masten,  could  cover  —  anything  unworthy. 

On  the  following  Sunday  Anne  said  to  Eureka 
and  her  daughter,  — 

"  Now,  my  dears,  I  think  we  may  as  well  fix  on 
Tuesday  as  « the  day  of  wrath,  the  dreadful  day  ' 
when  Meg  and  I  must  go  away  !  " 

"  Mrs.  McVey,"  said  Eureka,  solemnly,  "  as  I 
always  say  to  mamma  in  such  cases,  I  am  like 
cold  dumplings." 

"Cold  dumplings,  dear?  Do  you  mean  your 
heart  is  heavy  ?  " 

"No.  I  simply  mean  that  I  disagree  with 
mamma.  Now  I  disagree  with  you  !  Suppose  we 
should  die,  some  day !  How  sorry  we  should  be 
to  have  cut  short  this  greatest  joy  of  our  lives !  " 

"  My  darling,  joys  are  like  grapevines  —  all 
the  better  for  pruning.  Tuesday  let  it  be.  Don't 


AMARI  ALIQUID.  483 

make  my  duty  harder  by  opposing  it.  It  is  hard 
enough  already." 

A  few  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  Annie  answered 
by  other  tears  but  did  not  argue  further. 

So  the  parting  came.  Zury  set  off  on  a  Mon 
day  morning,  and  on  Wednesday  the  mother  and 
daughter  went  on  Phil's  train  to  the  "  jumping  off 
place,"  where  the  absolute  good-byes  must  be 
spoken.  The  train  slowed  up  —  stopped  —  they 
alighted,  Phil  was  kissing  them  and  saying  "  Good 
bye  mother,  good-bye  Meg ;  for  just  a  little  while," 
and  he  was  back  on  his  engine  and  the  train  was 
off  again  !  Before  they  knew  that  the  dreadful 
time  of  trial  had  arrived,  it  came,  was  here,  was 
past.  The  long  pain  had  begun  again  ! 

The  drive  to  Springville  was  prosperous,  though 
not  by  a  great  deal  as  gay  as  the  drive  northward. 
Beside  the  distress  of  separation,  a  serious  depres 
sion  seized  Mrs.  McVey,  —  dark,  cloudy  visions 
wherein  were  mingled  Phil,  and  Dolly,  and  Annie, 
and  herself,  and  Meg  ;  all  in  inextricable  turmoil 
and  confusion. 

As  Zury  said,  "  We  slid  up  hill,  and  now  we 
have  to  climb  down  !  "  He  would  often  create  a 
diversion  in  her  sadness ;  usually  by  long  and 
graphic  details  of  the  work  Phil  was  to  undertake 
for  him  in  the  spring  on  the  Red  Hill,  at  which 
time  Mrs.  McVey  and  Meg  were  to  move  to 
Galena  and  keep  house  for  him. 

u  Mind  ye  keep  a  room  fer  o'  man  Prouder, 
too,  'cause  he  '11  be  there  or  thereabouts  ;  on  hand, 
like  a  sore  thumb  !  " 


484  ZURY. 

Mrs.  McVey's  low  spirits  were  such  that  Zury's 
tact,  small  though  it  was,  sufficed  to  show  him  that 
this  was  no  time  to  renew  his  suit  for  her  heart 
and  hand.  Perhaps,  too,  he  would  be  restrained 
by  an  unconscious  chivalry  from  doing  so  at  the 
very  moment  when  she  felt  herself  under  deep  ob 
ligations  to  him  for  a  great  and  precious  service. 

.Anne,  on  her  part,  was  sorely  troubled  in  con 
science,  from  time  to  time,  by  the  thought  that 
she  was  not  rendering  "  value  received  "  for  the 
faithftd  and  devoted  attentions  of  her  elderly  ad 
mirer;  especially  his  kind  considerateness  in  not 
now  urging  the  suit  which  it  would  seem  so  hard 
and  cruel  and  ungrateful  in  her  to  refuse.  She 
made  heroic  efforts  to  behave  herself  as  she  knew 
he  would  like  to  have  her  —  to  talk,  to  smile,  to 
listen,  to  sympathize ;  and,  of  course,  the  effort  to 
please  him  increased  her  liking  for  him. 

Once  when  they  were  driving  alone  up  a  long 
hill,  Margaret  having  alighted  to  secure  a  little  of 
the  exercise  her  strong  muscles  demanded,  Anne 
opened  the  subject :  — 

"  How  selfish  my  low  spirits  make  me  !  Here 
I  don't  say  a  word  to  you  for  hours  together,  Mr. 
Prouder ! " 

"  Sorry  ye  ain't  happy.  But  if  you  can  stand 
bein'  down  on  your  luck,  surely  we  oughter  be 
able  to  stand  it  to  let  you  take  your  time  an'  get 
over  it  your  own  way! " 

"  Oh,  you  're  spoiling  me !  You  're  too  good  to 
me  ;  taking  all  this  trouble,  and  I  wrapped  up  in 
my  own  gloomy  fancies  !  I  ought  to  be  trying  all 


AMARI  AL1QUID.  485 

the  time  to  amuse  you  and  interest  you,  and  raise 
your  spirits,  never  minding  my  own,  good  or  bad  ! " 

He  answered,  after  a  moment's  pause,  in  a  tone 
which  was  either  fatherly  or  loverly,  whichever 
you  pleased,  low  and  soft. 

"  Why,  Anue  Sparrow  McVey,  don't  ye  know 
ye  ain't  no  call  to  do  anything  to  please  me  ?  Not 
a  thing?  Jest  bein'  yourself,  an'  settin'  there 
where  I  can  see  ye,  an'  sayin'  a  word  I  can  hear 
when  ye  feel  like  it "  — 

Here  his  voice  failed,  and  he  leaned  back  and 
touched  her  shoulder.  She  took  the  hand,  pulled 
off  the  loose  coarse  glove,  and  laid  the  knuckles, 
wrinkled  and  gray  as  they  were,  gently  against 
her  cheek ;  and  then  he  took  it  back  and  kissed 
off  the  tear  she  had  left  on  it. 

When  Meg  got  in  again  at  the  top  of  the  hill, 
all  flushed  and  refreshed,  she  cried, — 

"  Why,  see  !  Mr.  Prouder,  you  've  dropped 
your  glove  !  Or  did  you  do  it  on  purpose  to  sig 
nify  that  you  wanted  to  give  me  the  mitten  ?  " 

"  Thasso-thasso  !  Wai !  How  did  that  glove 
get  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  sleigh  to  be  sure  ! " 
And  he  pretended  to  pull  it  on  with  his  teeth,  but 
in  reality  was  kissing  the  tear-spot  once  more, 
whereat  Anne  smiled  to  herself. 

So  they  got  back  to  Springville  and  to  work 
again  ;  the  last  a  real  blessing,  as  may  well  be 
imagined.  Anne's  book-keeping  had  been  kept 
up  for  her,  after  a  fashion  ;  that  is,  the  daily  en 
tries  had  been  made,  and  only  the  occasional  tasks 
left  to  await  her  return ;  monthly  statements, 


486  ZURY. 

trial  balances  and  so  forth.  Her  evenings  for  a 
month  (with  the  able  help  Meg  could  give  her) 
she  felt  were  well  spent  in  catching  up  and 
making  atonement  for  the  splendid  month  of 
idleness.  Yet  the  intrusive  cloud  of  melancholy 
kept  hovering  near. 

"  Shall  I  ever  see  my  boy  again  ?  " 

"Why  not,  mother?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  daughter  ;  but  shall  I  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  if  you  don't  know  why  not,  I  '11 
take  upon  myself  to  answer.  There  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  n't  see  your  boy  again  —  more 
times  than  you  've  got  fingers  and  toes,  and  hairs 
on  your  head  besides  !  And  you  will !  Now  are 
you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  darling,  it 's  a  comfort  to  hear  you  say 
so,  though  I  know  you  don't  know  any  more  about 
it  than  I  do." 

"  Mother !  Either  you  are  sick,  or  you  are 
jealous  /" 

"Jealous?" 

"  Yes,  jealous  of  Annie  Masten !  You  know 
you  '11  see  Phil  McVey  again,  but  you  're  afraid 
he  '11  be  some  other  woman's  boy  and  not  yours 
any  more.  So  you  're  jealous !  " 

"  No,  no,  Margaret !  I  am  not  such  a  hateful 
old  woman  as  you  try  to  make  out." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  then  ?  I  declare,  you  make 
me  nervous,  too ;  you  're  so  unreasonable  and  so 
unlike  yourself ! " 

"I  should  be  delighted,  or  try  to  be,  if  Phil 
were  to  marry  Annie.  But  if  he  is  going  to,  why 


AMARI  ALIQUID.  487 

did  n't  he  say  a  single  word  to  his  mother  about 
it?" 

"  Because  he  is  n't  ready.  When  spring  comes 
and  he  leaves  the  road  and  becomes  a  man  and 
his  own  master,  you  '11  see  !  " 

"  Oh,  dear !  Will  spring  ever  come  to  all  of 
us,  alive  and  well?" 

"  4  Seed-time  and  harvest,  and  cold  and  heat,  and 
summer  and  winter,  and  day  and  night,  shall  not 
cease.' " 

"  No,  my  child ;  but  for  me  and  my  children 
they  will  all  cease.  I  only  hope  they  will  pass 
away  from  me  first  —  if  that  is  not  selfish.  It  is 
the  natural  order  of  things ;  and  oh,  if  things  will 
only  follow  in  their  natural  order  for  me !  " 

"  Mother,  mother,  mother,  what  shall  I  do  with 
you  if  you  are  so  naughty  !  ;  Go  read  yer  book,' 
as  Mrs.  Anstey  used  to  say.  I  should  be  deeply 
grieved  to  be  compelled  to  apply  pankypank  to  my 
maternal  parent  and  send  her  to  bed  in  the  day 
time  ;  but  there  is  a  point  beyond  which  forbear 
ance  ceases  to  be  a  virtue  !  " 

"  Well,  well,  my  .love ;  I  don't  want  to  make 
you  unhappy.  I  suppose  I  am  a  foolish,  doting 
old  woman,  verging  on  my  second  childhood 
before  I  'm  fairly  out  of  my  first." 

Then  followed,  of  course,  some  family  rites  and 
ceremonies,  oblations  and  genuflexions,  wherein 
the  old  relations  of  mother  and  daughter  were 
reversed ;  the  younger  being  the  comforter  and 
the  elder  the  comforted  ;  or  trying  hard  to  "  make 
believe  "  that  she  was. 


488  ZURY. 

On  the  day  of  their  arrival  once  more  at  their 
little  home,  Prouder  had  left  them  and  their 
trunk  safely  in  the  house,  and  started  off  to  make 
perhaps  half  the  journey  from  Springville  to  Way- 
back  before  night.  He  made  a  short  matter  of 
his  farewell,  for  a  variety  of  reasons.  Their 
thanks  were  a  burden  to  him,  feeling  as  he  did 
that  he  was  the  obliged  party  after  all ;  and  then, 
he  wanted  to  make  it  gay,  so  as  not  to  leave  any 
additional  sadness  on  poor  Anne's  spirit ;  and 
lastly,  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  say  much  — 
bravado  was  his  only  escape  from  making  a  fool 
of  himself,  he  thought. 

But  before  he  got  a  mile  out  of  town  he  gave 
way.  Could  he  bear  it?  That  vacant  seat  be 
hind  him,  where  those  two  women  had  sat  in  his 
company  for  many  days  —  the  very  straw  their 
feet  had  broken  and  tumbled,  still  in  the  sleigh  — 
and  he  there  alone  !  Alone  !  Alone  !  He  stopped 
the  team,  got  out  and  got  some  snow  to  cool  his 
eyes  and  forehead;  then  he  got  in  again  and 
started  forward  at  a  slow  walk.  He  came  to  a 
turn  in  the  road  from  which  the  town  would  be 
visible  to  him  for  the  last  time ;  rose  in  his  place 
to  give  a  farewell  look  ;  sat  down  again,  and  — 
turned  the  horses  about  and  drove  back  to  the 
hotel  in  time  for  supper. 

What  could  he  say  to  excuse  his  sudden  re 
appearance  at  the  widow's  house?  Well,  he'd 
think  of  that  on  the  way  up.  But  on  the  way  up 
he  could  n't  think  of  anything  ;  not  a  word.  He 
leaned  on  the  gate  and  watched  the  light  behind 


AMARI  ALIQUID.  489 

the  curtains  for  a  long,  long  time,  trying  to  dis 
tinguish  between  the  shadows  cast  on  them,  so 
as  to  guess  which  was  mother  and  which  was 
daughter.  At  last  common  sense  prevailed.  He 
said  to  himself,  — 

"  Zury,  do  you  want  to  be  here  this  evenin'  an' 
no  other  nights  to  speak  of?  Or  do  ye  wanter  let 
'em  alone  to-night  with  a  chance  to  be  with  'em 
day  an'  night  for  weeks,  months,  an'  years  ?  Take 
your  choice,  oF  man,  right  here  an'  right  now! 
Ef  she  ever  marries  ye,  it  '11  be  because  ye  're 
Zury  Prouder,  an'  not  a  driv'lin'  ol'  dotard !  Ye 
dog-gone  triflin'  ol'  fool  —  what  ye  doin'  here 
anyway,  a  hangin'  'round  a  woman's  house  this 
time  o'  night,  leanin'  against  her  fence  like  a  sick 
kitten  to  a  hot  brick?  Get  aout  an'  go  home  an' 
mind  yer  business  !  Then  come  an'  see  her  like 
a  man  when  she  begins  to  think  it 's  high  time  for 
ye  to  show  up  ! " 

So  he  walked  firmly  back  to  the  hotel ;  and 
early  next  day  drove  rapidly  off  to  his  own  place 
without  even  a  look  behind  him. 

Not  many  days  later,  he  stopped  at  the  Ansteys 
on  the  way  to  Way  back.  The  old  man  was  in 
arrears  on  his  mortgage  interest,  as  usual ;  and 
seeing  Zury  alight  and  tie  his  horse,  left  the  bed 
side  of  his  sick  wife,  and  hurried  to  the  gate  to 
take  the  anticipated  hard  talk  on  money-matters, 
beyond  her  hearing,  where  it  might  have  gone 
hard  with  her. 

"  Wai,  brother  Anstey !    Haow  's  th'  o'  woman  !  " 

"  Wai,  she  don't  gain  none."     Then,  hastily, 


490  ZURY. 

seeing  that  Zury  was  for  pushing  by  him  into  the 
house,  "  I  expect  I  know  what  ye  're  after,  Zury, 
'n'  maybe  we  mought  's  well  talk  aoutside  h'yer, 
whar  th'  o'  woman  won't  be  worried." 

"  'Course  ye  know  what  I  come  fer,  'n'  th'  o' 
woman  wants  t'  know  tew  !  Ain't  I  jes'  ben  up 
'n'  seen  yer  darter,  'n'  yer  gran'-childern  ;  'n  'nex' 
time  er  tew  I  come  daown  niebbe  I  '11  hev  some 
stories  t'  tell  ye  'baout  yer  great-gran's  tew !  " 

How  admirable  he  was  in  that  sick  chamber 
during  the  next  hour !  How  his  talk  flowed  in 
an  even,  distinct,  familiar  key,  comforting  and 
inspiring  those  two  dull  old  parents !  He  gave 
them  subjects  of  thought,  and  hope,  and  comfort, 
and  even  laughter,  that  made  a  new  interest  in  their 
life,  which  could  not  die  except  with  life  itself. 

He  did  not  know  he  was  doing  anything  par 
ticularly  kind,  nor  did  he  do  his  kindness  with  in 
tention.  It  was  an  impulse  he  would  have  had  in 
him  at  any  part  of  his  life ;  but  in  his  earlier, 
harder,  more  active  days,  such  impulses  were 
usually  overslaughed,  crushed,  and  killed  by  the 
stronger  preoccupations  of  the  greed  of  gain,  and 
the  ceaseless  craving  to  "  make  every  edge  cut," 
whether  of  money,  or  property,  or  time.  But  now 
the  husk  was  peeling  off. 

Old  Anstey  followed  him  to  the  gate  to  talk 
about  the  defaulted  interest,  which  he  did  at  a 
length  no  reader  would  tolerate,  though  Zury  lis 
tened  patiently.  At  last  the  latter  said, — 

"  Brother  Anstey,  don't  ye  know  what 's  the 
matter  with  yer  place  'n'  allers  hez  be'n  ?  Ye 


AMARI  ALIQUW.  491 

hain't  kep'  enough  live  stawk.  Ye  sol'  yer  craps 
instead  o'  feedin'  'em.  Naow,  ye  see,  h'yer  't  is 
agin  this  year;  yew  'n'  yer  boys  's  got  ter  kill 
yerselves  a-getherin',  'n'  a-deliverin',  'n'  a-sellin' 
yer  stuff,  jest  when  th'  don't  nobody  wanter  buy, 
not  at  no  price  !  " 

"Wai,  but  Zury,  what's  a  man  t'  dew?  I 
hain't  no  stawk,  ner  no  money  t'  buy  stawk  ;  'n'  I 
hed  t'  mortgage  my  crap  t'  git  money  t'  pay  yer 
interest  las'  time,  'n'  keep  my  fam'ly  a-goin'  — 
med'cine  'n'  one  thing  another !  " 

Prouder  smiled  a  grim  smile  and  answered,  — 

"  /'d  a  foun'  some  way  t'  git  some  stawk  on  tew 
the  place  in  the  las'  twenty-five  years !  I  'd  a 
kep'  every  sow-pig  th't  was  littered,  n'  matter  ef 
I  'd  a  had  t'  eat  ther  tails  'n'  ears  off  whilst  the' 
wuz  a-breedin' !  But  that  ain't  nuther  h'yer  ner 
thar.  I  'm  a-goin'  t'  take  up  that  crap  mortgage 
'n'  hold  it  fer  ye,  'n'  put  in  enough  more  cash  t' 
hawg  this  place  fer  all  it  '11  carry  ;  'n'  you  'n'  the 
boys  's  got  t'  feed  'em  till  spring,  'n'  —  then  we  '11 
see ! " 

Old  Anstey  opened  the  gate  and  went  out  to 
where  the  other  sat  on  his  horse,  impatient  to  do 
his  kindness  and  be  off  to  escape  gratitude.  Anstey 
went  up  close,  without  saying  anything,  till  he 
had  laid  one  hand  on  the  horse's  mane  and  the 
other  on  the  rider's  knee.  Then  he  said,  — 

"Zury!     D'ye  mean  it?" 

"  Noth'n'  shorter  !  " 

The  old  man  broke  down  and  cried  with  joy 
and  relief  ;  said  he,  — 


492  ZURY. 

"  I  thought  this  year  was  goin'  t'  take  my  wife 
'n'  my  farm!  God  forgive  me  —  I  thought  so! 
I  've  conned  over  how  mebbe  Bijah  'n'  his  fam'ly 
could  git  t'  work  fer  yew,  'n'  Silas  fer  some  o'  th' 
neighbors ;  'n'  mebbe  Reekie  she  could  take  the 
youngest  t'  Galeny,  after  th'  ole  mother  'd  gone  t' 
the  grave  'n'  th'  ole  dad  t'  the  poorhaouse  !  I  did  ! 
But  naow  —  the  day  I  see  enough  hawgs  rootin' 
raound  th'  place  t'  eat  up  the  crap  instead  o'  sellin 
on  it,  I  '11  say  there  is  a  God  in  Israel  —  'n'  Zury 
Praouder  's  his  minister.  I  will !  " 

"  Sho  !  S'pose  I  'm  a-goin'  t'  see  all  the  money 
you  've  put  inter  this  place,  'n'  all  the  money  I  've 
put  in,  lost  fer  want  of  a  turn  o'  my  hand  ?  No, 
sirree !  Th'  ain't  a-goin'  t'  be  no  foreclosin'  mor- 
gidges  h'yer  !  I  'm  a-goin'  to  stawk  up  this  place 
ontel  I  git  my  money  outer  it,  —  every  dollar, 
principal  'n'  interest !  That 's  what  kind  of  a 
hairpin  I  am! " 

And  so  disguising  his  benevolent  scheme  under 
the  mask  of  a  far-seeing  selfishness,  be  galloped 
away,  and  as  he  went  lie  asked  himself, — 

u  Would  she  be  pleased  ef  she  knew  'baout  that 
little  stroke  o'  business  ?  Would  she  ?  Would 
she  ?  " 

His  heart  glowed  with  the  unspoken  answer. 
Later  he  added,  — 

"  Her  Phil's  wife's  gran'f  ther  in  the  poorhouse  ! 
My  Phil's  children's  great  gran'f'ther  in  the  poor- 
house  !  Mebbe-mebbe  !  But  not  while  I  'm  be 
tween  him  'n'  it !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

ANOTHER  PROPOSAL  AND  ANOTHER  ANSWER. 

TIME,  the  voracious,  swallows  and  digests  griefs 
as  well  as  joys.  It  is  an  unromantic  fact,  bat  a 
fact  nevertheless,  that  every  minute  of  separation 
tends  toward  indifference,  the  first  as  well  as  the 
last.  It  seemed  to  Anne  and  Meg  that  the  longer 
they  were  parted  from  Phil,  the  more  they  loved 
him ;  but  it  was  not  so.  The  seeming,  in  such 
cases,  is  a  false  one.  Rationally  considered  the 
matter  is  only  a  simple  sum  in  proportion.  When 
the  mother  and  sister  had  been  separated  from 
Phil  for  a  month,  alienation,  or  consolation,  or 
forgetfulness,  or  whatever  name  you  give  to  time's 
kindly  healing  agency,  had  already  begun.  One 
is  a  proportionate  part  of  a  hundred  in  time,  as 
well  as  in  everything  else ;  in  heart  matters  as 
well  as  in  mathematics. 

The  first  evening  when  Zury  Prouder  presented 
himself  at  the  McVey  door  found  both  mother 
and  daughter  very  glad  to  see  him. 

"  Well,  well !  It  does  seem  kinder  natural  to 
see  you  two  chummin'  together  so  peaceable- 
like ! " 

"If  you'd  wanted  to  be  really  and  truly 
friendly,  you  'd  have  come  in  time  for  tea !  But 


494  ZURY. 

you  're  too  proud  to  be  wasting  your  time  on  two 
lone,  lorn  women  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  could  n't  well  git  'round.  Besides,  I 
knew  my  name  was  n't  in  the  pot." 

"  There 's  always  enough  in  the  pot  for  one 
more,  when  that  one  's  a  friend  like  you  !  We  'd 
have  gone  hungry  gladly  for  the  pleasure  of  see 
ing  you  eat." 

"  'T  would  n't  have  been  my  pleasure  to  eat,  and 
you  hungry!  But,  come  to  think,  I  did  have  a 
ham  left  over,  and  it 's  out  in  the  sleigh  now.  If 
ye  don't  mind  eatin'  a  Wayback  ham,  to  taste  like 
old  times,  I  '11  fetch  it  in." 

"  Surely  we  '11  eat  it !  Double  pleasure  it  '11  be, 
too !  In  the  first  place,  it  will  be  a  tip-top  ham  if 
it  came  from  the  Prouder  farm ;  and  secondly,  it 
'11  taste  all  the  sweeter,  knowing  who  gave  it." 

Zury  flushed  with  pleasure  as  he  went  out  for 
his  simple  gift,  and  wished  it  were  a  barrel-full. 

"  Dear,  dear,  Meg !  To  think  of  Zury  Proud- 
er's  giving  anything  away  for  nothing !  " 

"  You  take  care  it  turns  out  to  be  for  nothing, 
mother.  I  'm  getting  scared  !  " 

The  widow  only  gave  a  little  blushful  laugh, 
which  was  n't  quite  gone  when  Zury  got  back. 

"  Oh,  what  a  picture  of  a  ham  !  That  color  is 
just  like  the  finest  coffee,  made  with  rich  cream  !  " 

"  Well !  Sometimes  ham  's  jest  as  good  meat  as 
Goddlemighty  lets  grow.  More  times  it  ain't  only 
middlin'.  It 's  all  owin'  to  how  ye  cure  'em. 
The  hawg  always  does  his  part  all  right ;  it 's  us 
poor  humans  that  comes  short  of  our  part.  I  've 


ANOTHER  PROPOSAL.  495 

got  the  boss  receet  for  a  dry  pickle,  but  then  ye 
don't  get  jest  the  finishin'  touch  unless  ye  've  got 
fresh-cut  green  hickory  chips  to  smoke  'em  with." 

"  I  can  smell  the  green  hickory  smoke  in  this, 
this  minute." 

"  'Course  ye  can  !  All-fired  sweet  smell  it  is, 
too.  The  hickory  bark  in  a  woods-fire  "  —  (here 
he  checked  himself.)  "  As  I  was  sayin',  my 
teams  '11  be  over  for  stuff  from  the  store,  and  I 
can  jest  as  well  send  ye  a  cord  or  two  of  hickory. 
Dry  '11  suit  ye  best  here,  bein'  ye  hain't  any  hams 
to  smoke." 

"  Oh,  you  '11  take  so  much  care  of  us  you  '11 
make  us  tender-footed !  We  shall  forget  our  old 
lesson  of  how  to  get  on  by  ourselves !  " 

"  Well,  ye  might  do  worse  th'n  that,  tew !  " 

"  Now  sit  down,  and  tell  us  all  about  Wayback. 
How  is  Mrs.  Anstey  ?  " 

"  Best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  repeat  what  o'  man 
Anstey  said  to  me  as  I  passed  his  house  this  morn 
ing.  4  Zury,'  said  he,  '  it  's  nip  'n'  tuck  with  th' 
o'  woman.  Some  days  nip  'n'  some  days  tuck. 
One  spell  kinder  chipper,  'n'  then  agin  downcy. 
Ef  she  kin  live  till  spring,  she  may  git  well,  but 
ef  not,  then  I  hain't  much  hope.'  Now  you  ladies 
can  make  what  you  please  out  of  that." 

Meg  could  not  help  laughing,  but  Anne  said, — 

"  Oh,  if  it  were  n't  dear  old  Mrs.  Anstey,  I 
might  laugh  at  the  idea  of  giving  up  hope  if  she 
dies  before  spring  !  " 

"  Wai,  I  kept  my  face  straight.  I  saw  what  he 
meant  —  that  he  hadn't  much  hope  of  her  living 
till  spring." 


496  ZURY. 

"  She  's  a  dear  old  soul ;  whether  she  lives  or 
dies  I  love  her.  How  is  brother  Bromwell?" 

"  Omri  Bromwell,  he  '11  live  to  bury  us  all  yet, 
you  see  'f  he  don't !  He  ain't  never  a-goin'  to 
die  —  he'll  jest  dry  up  and  blow  away." 

"  How 's  that  little  niece  of  your  wife's  that 
lives  at  your  house  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Alphy,  she  's  growed  up,  as  a  matter  of 
course ;  an'  she 's  beginnin'  to  take  notice,  too. 
Lived  to  my  place  ever  since,  and  I  heard  she  'd 
made  a  barrel  of  soft  soap  and  bespoke  one  of  my 
next  litter  of  pups,  so  I  s'pose  she  allows  to  marry, 
come  spring." 

"  Is  that  a  sign  ?  When  a  girl  makes  a  barrel 
of  soap  and  gets  a  dog?  " 

"  Yes,  Margaret.  Preparations  for  house-keep- 
in',  ye  see.  You  hain't  made  no  soap  nor  bespoke 
no  dog  yet,  I  don't  expect  ?  " 

"  No,  nor  I  don't  mean  to  !     No  such  luck !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  you  get  discouraged,  not  a  mite. 
Me  and  Phil  '11  try  an'  provide  the  soap  agin  you 
pick  out  the  feller." 

"  You  need  n't  hurry." 

"  Speakin'  of  Phil,  I  shall  be  travelin'  up  north 
again,  soon  's  the  roads  get  settled.  Anythin'  ye 
want  to  send  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  lots  o'  things.  I  've  got  a  pair  of 
mittens  knit  for  him." 

"  See  ye  don't  give  no  mittens  to  no  feller  ex 
cept  yer  brother !  " 

"  I  '11  never  have  the  chance." 

"Can't  most  always  tell!  The'  say  red  hair's 
comin'  in  fashion." 


ANOTHER  PROPOSAL.  497 

44  Is  that  so !  Yes,  I  've  heard  something  of 
that  kind,  and  I  only  wish  it  would  hurry  and 
come  true !  " 

"  Oh,  ye  do,  do  ye?  Ye  own  up  at  last !  First 
time  I  ever  heard  ye  let  on  ye  was  a  woman ! " 

44  To  be  sure  !  Just  as  soon  as  red  hair  comes 
in  fashion,  do  you  know  what  I  'm  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Marry  the  President,  I  s'pose.  Ye  '11  surely 
be  entitled  to !  " 

"  Wrong  for  once  !  I  'm  going  to  cut  mine  all 
off  and  sell  it !  " 

"  You,  sho  !     How  much  '11  ye  take  for  it  ?  " 

"  Ten  dollars." 

"  And  let  the  buyer  do  what  he  has  a  mind  to 
with  it  ?  " 

44  Just  exactly." 

"  It 's  a  whack  !  Here 's  your  ten  dollars  —  the 
hair's  mine  —  now  ye  keep  it  jest  where  it  is,  an' 
mind  ye  take  good  care  of  my  hair ! "  And  he 
selected  a  nice,  clean  ten-dollar-bill  and  thrust  it 
at  her. 

44  Nonsense  !  I  take  it  all  back  !  My  hair  is 
n't  for  sale." 

They  had  quite  a  little  scuffle,  he  trying  to  force 
the  bill  upon  her,  and  she  persistently  and  deftly 
returning  it  into  some  one  or  other  of  his  numer 
ous  pockets  as  fast  as  he  could  get  rid  of  it. 

44  Oh,  ye  think  ye  're  mighty  strong,  don't  ye  ? 
Now  look  here ! "  And  he  grasped  her  two  el 
bows  from  behind  and  lifted  her  clear  off  the 
ground. 

44  Oh-set-me-down-set-me-down  !     I  give  in  !  " 


498  ZURY. 

"You're  a  witness,  Mis  McVey." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Anne,  much  amused, 

"  The  hair 's  mine,  to  dew  what  I  have  a  mind 
to  with." 

"  Yes,  yes !    Oh  yes,  set  me  down." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  and  he  set  her  down  and 
planted  a  kiss  right  in  the  thickest  part  of  his 
new  purchase. 

"  Mercy,  my !  Is  that  the  way  men  do, 
mother  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  they  do,  my  dear,  when  they  get 
a  good  chance." 

"  You  bet  they  do,  Margaret !  Only  usially 
they  're  younger,  as  ye  '11  find  out  when  ye  get 
older ! " 

"  Never !  I  '11  never  sell  my  red  hair  except  to 
a  gray-haired  man  !  " 

"  Glad  ye  liked  the  trade  so  much  ye  don't  want 
any  change." 

Meg  laughed,  and  soon  left  the  room  to  attend 
to  household  matters  or  re-arrange  her  ruffled 
plumage. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Prouder,"  said  Anne,  "  I  have  some 
thing  to  send  Phil  by  you  —  some  advice.  I  wish 
Phil  would  n't  go  back  to  the  Sanderses  to  live." 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  Dolly  Sanders  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  the  world.  But  I  don't  like  her, 
and  I  think  she  does  n't  like  Annie  Masten." 

"  Ever  hear  of  her  sayin'  anythin'  about  her  ?  " 

"  Nothing  that  I  know  of,  good  or  bad." 

"  Hmm-hmm-hmm  —  lessee,  lessee.  Did  Dolly 
know  Phil  before  she  married  Jim  Sanders  ?  " 


ANOTHER  PROPOSAL.  499 

"No." 

"  How  long  's  she  known  him  ?  " 

"  Only  since  Phil  went  up  to  Chicago." 

"  Hmra-hmm-hmm  !  Jesso-jesso.  Well,  a  wo 
man  like  you  usially  jumps  right,  even  ef  she  does 
jump  in  the  dark.  I  've  got  to  carry  up  a  pup  to 
Dolly  that  I  promised  her,  an'  I  '11  see  how  the 
land  lays." 

"  I  can't  see  why  there  should  be  any  trouble 
about  it.  Just  let  him  stay  away." 

"  Wai,  now,  ye  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  there 
is  some  trouble  about  it,  er  else  ye  would  n't  be 
askin'  me  to  'tend  to  it  for  ye.  Ye  'd  jest  write 
Phil  yourself  what  ye  want." 

"  Well,  of  course,  I  'in  not  on  the  ground,  as 
you  will  be." 

"  'Course  Jim  Sanders  don't  allow  to  keep  up 
that  establishment  alone  !  " 

"  Then  let  Dolly  find  some  other  mother's  son 
to  board  there,  and  let  my  son  alone." 

"  Mebbe  she  hain't  got  all  the  lettin'  alone  t' 
dew." 

Anne's  forefinger  tapped  on  her  teeth  nervously 
in  the  old  "  puzzlementary  gesture,"  her  foot  beat 
ing  on  the  carpet,  but  she  did  not  reply. 

"  Phil  ain't  a  feller  to  let  women  alone  much." 

Still  the  silence  and  the  small  tapping  boot- 
toe. 

"  Well,  I  '11  see  about  it.  One  way  strikes  me 
might  work.  I  'm  cal'latin'  to  have  right  smart  of 
work  done  at  the  railroad  shops  in  Galeny,  an'  the 
foreman  there,  him  an'  me  is  thicker  'n  three-in- 


500  ZURY. 

a-bed.  Now  he  might  work  it  so  that  Phil's  en 
gine  sh'd  run  into  Chicago  days  an'  double  back 
nights,  an'  then  lay  over  twenty-four  hours.  Day 
on  an'  day  off,  ye  see.  Mighty  convenient  fer 
me,  too,  'cause  after  Phil  got  to  bed  of  a  mornin' 
he  could  n't  sleep  much  longer  than  noon,  and 
then  him  an'  me  can  put  in  th'  afternoon  on  the 
hill." 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  splendid !  You  are  the 
best  planner  in  the  world,  I  do  believe !  " 

"  Ye  would  n't  mind  his  spendin'  his  evenin's  at 
the  preacher's  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Anne,  with  one  of  those  little 
jealous  sighs. 

"  Oh,  he  'd  learn  lots  of  theology  at  the  preach 
er's  !  Predestination  an'  free-will,  savin'  grace, 
original  sin,  an'  etarnal  love  —  specially  love  — 
what  he  would  n't  know  in  a  month  ain't  worth 
knowin'  !  " 

"  I  suppose  he  'd  learn  fast." 

"  'Baout  love  ?  Larn  an'  teach.  It  would  be 
in  a  line  where  he  's  pretty  well  edicated  already, 
if  I  'm  a  judge !  Fact  is,  I  guess  he  was  born  so 
—  though  I  do'  know  where  he  could  have  inher 
ited  it  from  !  Some  is  born  so  —  some  ain't.  I 
did  n't  never  think  I  'd  oughter  have  been,  nor 
wish  I  had  been,  until  now." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  "  — 

"  Yes,  that 's  jest  what  I  do  mean  !  I  know  I  'm 
old  to  be  thinkin'  of  such  things,  but  I  shan't 
never  be  any  younger.  And  if  I  do  think  of  'em 
it 's  your  fault,  not  mine.  No  other  woman  don't 
never  put  'em  into  my  head  —  nor  never  will," 


ANOTHER  PROPOSAL.  501 

Anne  knitted  on  in  silence  and  made  no  sign 
to  the  yearning  eyes  of  her  old  lover.  When  he 
spoke  again  his  voice  sounded  thin  and  far  away 
with  the  dry  tension  in  his  throat. 

"  Don't  ye  go  to  send  me  off  again,  Miss  Mc- 
Vey  —  don't  do  it!  It  'most  killed  me  before. 
Young  folks  can  turn  from  one  thing  to  another, 
but  old  folks  —  I  know  I  'm  rough,  and  ignor'nt, 
and  no  gentleman,  and  all  that ;  but  I  hain't  for 
got  how  to  learn,  and  I  'm  so  fixed  in  this  world's 
goods  that  I  don't  need  to  do  anythin'  else  for  the 
little  time  I  've  got  to  stay  —  and  your  word  shall 
be  law  to  me  and  mine  —  I  '11  only  go  my  own 
way  until  I  see  ye  don't  like  it,  and  then  I  '11  go 
your  way  until  I  can  make  ye  think  my  way  's 
better  —  if  it  is,  which  ain't  likely." 

Tears  began  running  down  Anne's  cheeks,  but 
Zury's  eyes  were  too  dim  to  see  them. 

"  I  don't  say  nothin'  about  the  money — only 
all  ye  want  shall  be  yours  without  havin'  to  ask 
for  it.  And  I  '11  try  never  to  save  another  cent, 
not  if  I  can  help  it.  I  '11  make  what  I  can  with 
Phil,  but  not  by  skim  pin'  and  parin'  and  jewin'. 
Not  if  I  can  help  it.  Though  it  '11  be  hard  fer  a 
hand  that 's  always  been  used  to  doin'  so  "  (he 
made  a  motion  as  if  picking  up  a  handful  of 
grain)  "  to  learn  to  turn  round  and  do  so"  (and 
he  loosed  the  phantom  grain  and  let  it  drop). 
But  I  can  do  it !  I  can  do  it !  I  never  failed  in 
any  thin'  I  undertook  yet,  —  only  one,  —  and  I 
don't  give  that  one  up !  Had  I  better,  Miss  Mc- 
Vey  ?  Anne,  had  I  better  ?  " 


502  ZURY. 

Anne  had  laid  down  her  knitting,  and  sat  cover 
ing  her  wet  eyes  with  her  hand.  After  two  or 
three  minutes  she  said, — 

44  We  '11  see  after  we  get  up  to  Phil's  new  home 
on  the  Red  Hill  —  if  we  ever  get  there." 

44  Oh,  thank  the  Lord  for  all  his  mercies,  and 
all  that  is  within  me  bless  the  Lord ! " 

Zury  spoke  once  more  in  his  natural  voice:  the 
tension  in  his  throat  was  gone  as  if  by  magic. 
He  rose  as  he  spoke  and  went  gently  over  to 
where  Anne  sat,  and  bending  down  kissed  her 
hair,  just  as  he  had  kissed  her  daughter's.  It  was 
silky  yet,  and  only  paled  with  gray ;  red  hair  is 
apt  to  be  so  instead  of  streaked  and  silvered  as 
black  hair  becomes. 

If  she  had  been  younger  she  would  have  raised 
her  face  to  his.  If  he  had  been  younger  he  would 
have  bent  down  his  face  to  hers,  but,  being  elderly 
folks,  they  discreetly  parted  without  any  further 
visible  tenderness.  Zury  went  his  way  out  into 
the  darkness  and  Anne  hastened  to  find  Margaret. 
The  poor  girl  was  crying  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 

44  Oh,  mother,  mother  !  " 

This  was  all  she  could  say,  but  it  spoke  volumes 
for  the  bruised  soul,  chilled  away  from  the  natu 
ral  joys  and  loves  and  sympathies  of  her  age  and 
sex,  and  now  threatened  with  separation  from  the 
one  love  which  she  had  fondly  thought  would  be 
to  her,  through  life,  a  full  equivalent  for  all  she 
must  forego  of  human  hopes  and  blessedness.  It 
seemed  somewhat  as  if  a  mother-bird  should  push 


ANOTHER  PROPOSAL.  503 

away  from  the  parental  nest  a  poor  fledgling  which 
had  come  into  the  world  with  only  one  wing !  It 
must  fall  to  the  ground  and  die  alone  at  the  foot 
of  the  tree  while  all  its  happy  kind  were  flying 
high  and  free,  and  the  mother  had  filled  the  nest 
with  others. 

"  My  sweet  daughter !  Come  rest  in  my  arms 
once  more  —  so.  Now  what  was  it  Ruth  said  to 
Naomi  ?  " 

"'  Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee,  nor  to  return 
from  following  after  thee.' '' 

"  Well,  my  daughter ;  4  Whither  thou  goest,  I 
will  go.'  Now,  you  say  the  next." 

" 4  Where  thou  lodgest  I  will  lodge/  " 

" 4  Thy  people  shall  be  my  people.' ' 

44  'And  thy  God,  my  God.'  " 

"  Now,  darling,  listen  to  your  mother  while  she 
vows  a  vow.  4  The  Lord  do  so  to  me  and  more 
also,  if  aught  but  death  part  me  and  thee.' " 

And  so  they  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep.  Mar 
garet  slept  with  her  mother  that  night  so  that 
they  could  keep  their  hands  clasped  in  sleep  as  of 
old. 

Prouder  did  not  stagger  on  his  way  back  to  the 
hotel,  as  once  before  on  the  same  road  ;  or  if  he 
did,  it  was  not  with  despair,  but  rather  with  the 
intoxication  of  hope. 

At  the  warehouse,  three  days  later,  Anne  found 
two  letters  ;  one  from  Phil,  which  she,  of  course, 
opened  first ;  though  the  long  business-like  en 
velope  of  the  other  was  rather  alluring.  Phil's 
news  was  fresh,  bright,  gay,  like  himself ;  and 


504  ZURY. 

what  was  better,  it  breathed  goodness,  and  steady 
devotion  to  his  best  self  —  and  to  "  the  Mastens." 

Now,  what  could  be  in  the  other?  Zury's 
rugged  handwriting  — that  was  unmistakable.  A 
letter  and  a  printed  something. 

The  latter  was  a  certificate  for  two  hundred 
shares  ($100  each)  of  stock  in  the  Springville  Gas 
Company,  issued  to  Usury  Prouder,  and  indorsed 
by  him  to  Anne  McVey.  The  letter  read :  — 

WAYBACK,  ILL.,  January  21, 185- 

MRS.  ANNE  McVEY,  —  I  hand  you  inclosed 
200  shares  of  S.  G.  C.  stock.  This  stock  pays 
regular  ten  per  cent,  in  cash,  and  ten  per  cent, 
more  or  less  in  stock  to  represent  new  extensions 
laid  out  and  paid  for  from  the  surplus  earnings.  I 
hope  you  will  find  it  a  good  investment,  and 
remain,  Yours  respectfully, 

U.  PROUDER. 

Anne  laughed  and  blushed,  and  nearly  cried  at 
the  striking  evidence  of  the  power  of  her  elderly 
charms.  Here  she  was,  "  fair-and-forty  "  at  least, 
but  there  must  be  something  about  her  such  as, 
in  her  girlhood,  she  had  fondly  hoped  to  possess  — 
some  quality  that  might  take  hold  of  a  strong  man 
with  a  strength  to  which  his  strength  would  be 
but  child's-play ! 

She  erased  the  indorsement  and  maile<(J  the 
shares  back  to  their  owner,  with  a  letter  not  quite 
as  formal  and  business-like  as  his,  but  still  some 
what  in  the  same  line. 


ANOTHER  PROPOSAL.  505 

SPRING  VILLE,  ILL.,  January  23,  185-. 

USURY  PROUDER,  Esq. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  did  not  intend,  when  I  talked 
with  you  last  night,  to  indicate  a  final  purpose  to 
purchase  the  kind  of  stock  received  by  your  letter 
of  to-day.  I  was  glad  to  hear  from  you,  and  hope 
to  see  you  soon,  when  we  will  talk  over  the  mat 
ter  and  others  of  interest  that  may  arise.  Mean 
while,  I  beg  leave  to  return  the  certificate  you 
inclosed,  and  hope  it  may  continue  as  profitable 
an  investment  in  the  future  as  in  the  past. 
Yours  very  truly, 

ANNE  S.  McVEY. 

Then,  fearing  that  Zury  would  not  "  read  be 
tween  the  lines,"  she  added  a  postscript. 

P.  S. — As  to  the  other  matters  we  spoke  of,  I 
am  still  of  the  same  mind.  Please  call  when 
convenient.  A.  S.  McV. 

As  Anne  feared,  Zury  was  dreadfully  taken 
aback  at  seeing  the  inclosure  fall  out  of  her  letter 
when  he  opened  it  —  his  gift  rejected  —  perhaps 
his  lady  turned  against  him  !  But  a  great  sigh 
of  relief  and  gladness  swelled  his  heart  when  he 
read  the  letter  and  postscript.  Now,  once  more  he 
wrote  to  Anne,  and  re-inclosed  the  much  indorsed 
and  much  traveled  gas-stock. 

WATBACK,  January  25,  185-. 

DEAR  MADAM,  —  I  know  my  own  mind  for 
sure,  and  that  it  will  never  change.  You  don't 


506  ZURY. 

know  it  for  sure  —  therefore  I  hope  you  will  not 
refuse  me  to  make  the  arrangement  I  have  decided 
to  make.  I  return  the  papers,  and,  live  or  die,  I 
never  want  to  see  them  again. 

Your  obedient  servant, 

U.  PROUDER. 

This  was  carrying  persistency  too  far ;  but  how 
to  check  it  without  needless  pain  to  the  poor  rich 
man  ?  Well,  she  must  use  all  her  tact. 

SPBINGVILLE,  January  27,  185-. 

DEAR  MR.  PROUDER, —  As  you  perhaps  know, 
or  will  some  day  find  out,  I  have  a  terrible  temper, 
and  one  that  is  hard  to  control  when  aroused.  Do 
not  disturb  it  by  sending  back  this  stock  any 
more.  I  have  no  present  use  for  it ;  and  if  any 
future  occasion  should  arise,  then  I  will  put  my 
temper  in  my  pocket  —  and  the  shares,  too. 

Now,  to  turn  to  a  subject  we  shall  not  disagree 
about,  —  when  are  you  coming  to  see  us  ? 
Yours  very  truly, 

ANNE  S.  McVEY. 

"  Gee-whillikins  !  Ain't  she  a  woman  for  get- 
tin'  a  man  down,  and  keepin'  him  down  !  "  But, 
even  as  he  said  this,  he  chuckled  with  delight  at 
her  masterful  ways,  and  enjoyed  his  feeling  of 
entire  helplessness  before  her.  To  talk  with  her 
by  letter  was  so  delightful  that  he  almost  dreaded 
to  see  her  again,  for  fear  he  should  wake  up  from 
a  dream,  or  in  some  other  way  come  to  grief. 


ANOTHER  PROPOSAL.  507 

But  he  ventured  into  the  effulgence  of  the  cot 
tage,  after  a  while,  and  was  only  moderately 
sobered  and  set  back  when  Anne  reminded  him 
that  she  had  as  yet  promised  nothing  save  that 
they  would  see  when  they  all  got  together  at 
Galena  —  if  they  ever  did. 

"  Wai,  jest  as  you  say.  But  ye  can't  prevent 
me  f  m.  kinder  lookin'  out  for  ye  a  leetle  —  s'posin 
in  case  I  was  to  be  taken  —  I  'm  li'ble  t'  die  any 
day  's  well  's  other  folks  —  or  suth'n'  else  sh'd 
befall  to  keep  things  from  turnin'  out  as  I  'm 
hopin'." 

"  Oh,  you  may  look  out  all  you  like,  only  you 
must  not  do  a  thing  —  not  a  thing  —  in  that  direc 
tion.  It  would  seem  like  a  yoke  on  my  neck ; 
and  whenever  I  feel  that,  it  will  be  time  for  me 
to  lie  down  and  die  !  " 

"  Oh,  there  ain't  no  fear  of  you  not  keepin' 
your  independence  !  I  mistrust  the  trouble  '11  be 
for  me  to  keep  mine ;  or  get  it  back,  I  should  say, 
for  I  'm  blamed  if  it  ain't  clean  gone  now ! " 

"  Well,  you  must  get  it  back  if  you  want  to 
please  me.  We  must  both  be  independent,  all 
our  lives." 

"  How  d'  ye  mean  —  independent  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  hardly  know  how  to  explain  it.  One 
reason  why  we  have  hitherto  got  on  so  well, — 
usually,  —  is  that  neither  has  had  any  power  or 
authority  over  the  other ;  neither  has  had  to  ask 
the  other  for  money  or  for  anything  else.  And 
that  is  the  way  it  must  go  on.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 


608  ZURY. 

Zury  was  a  little  crestfallen  and  did  not  reply. 

"  You  see,  after  you  got  tired  of  me,  it  would 
make  me  angry  to  have  to  ask  you  for  —  anything. 
And  such  a  temper  as  I  have !  " 

"  Ya-as  —  I  know  all  abaout  that,  and  I  respect 
ye  for  it  tew.  But  when  I  want  to  make  ye  in 
dependent  regardin'  money,  ye  wun't  hear  nothin' 
of  it!" 

"Well,  it's  too  soon!  As  I  have  before  said, 
we  '11  see  when  we  get  up  to  the  Red  Hill." 

So  the  very  next  day  the  crafty  Zury  went  to 
the  bank  and  deposited  in  the  vault  the  certificate 
of  Gas  Company  Stock,  indorsed  again  to  Anne, 
inclosed  in  a  sealed  envelope,  marked,  uThis  to 
be  opened  by  the  cashier  in  case  I  die  before 
reclaiming  it.  U.  Prouder." 

Time  flies,  with  a  hop-skip-and-jump,  between 
this  chapter  and  the  next :  things  occur  which 
belong  to  another  story  rather  than  this  ;  but  there 
comes  no  change  in  the  strong  man's  unwearied 
docility  and  devotion,  or  in  the  beloved  woman's 
gradually  thawing  reserve  ;  and  her  growing  grat 
itude,  esteem,  affection,  love. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

A  LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM. 

WE  picked  up  our  homespun  thread  tit  the 
Prouder  section :  we  followed  it  in  its  windings, 
knots,  and  twists  to  the  school,  the  woods-fire,  the 
riot,  the  stump,  the  polls,  the  machine-shop,  the 
mines,  and  many  scenes  beside.  Now,  a  whole 
generation  later  (well  on  in  "  the  Fifties  "),  it 
leads  us  back  to  the  very  place  we  started  from. 

Usually  it  is  a  sad  thing  to  see  old  friends  again, 
after  long  years  have  changed  them  beyond  recog 
nition.  But  sometimes  that  which  is  uncouth  and 
sordid  in  youth  is  lovely  in  age.  This  happens 
oftener  in  a  frontier  locality  of  these  days  than  at 
any  other  place  of  earth  or  age  of  time.  It  has 
happened  to  the  Prouder  homestead.  When  we 
first  saw  it,  it  was  the  abode  of  toil  and  hardship 
—  poor  in  money,  comfort,  grace,  gayety,  leisure, 
cultivation,  refinement,  liberality.  Now  (though 
so  many  years  later,  yet  still  in  the  same  man's 
lifetime)  all  these  things  have  grown  and  clustered 
about  it  like  flowers  and  fruits  about  a  lonely  rock. 
Nature's  prodigal  soil  and  man's  prodigal  labor 
have  worked  (like  coral  insects)  to  make  a  lovely 
island  where  was  before  a  pathless  waste. 


510  ZURY. 

We  will  begin  with  the  oldest  object  visible  on 
the  place  —  the  log-house,  so  hastily  yet  solidly 
built  by  Ephraim  and  his  son,  as  a  shelter  into 
which  they  might  unload  the  few  "  sticks  of  fur 
niture  "  they  had  wagoned  all  the  way  from  Penn 
sylvania  in  their  "  prairie  schooner,"  and  which 
served  as  the  first  living-place  for  the  builders' 
family. 

"  The  "clapboard"  roof,  or  its  scanty  re 
mains,  have  disappeared.  A  professional  English 
thatcher,  who  had  settled  in  the  neighborhood, 
has  covered  the  hovel  with  a  regular  old-world 
thatch  ;  a  thing  of  soft  outlines  and  overhanging 
eaves.  What  a  dignity  the  tumble-down  shanty 
at  once  took  on  when  this  classic  top-finish  was 
put  on  it !  It  was  as  when  the  Lord  Chancellor's 
time-honored  powdered  wig  is  donned  by  a  com 
mon-place  barrister ;  at  once  he  becomes,  in  looks 
at  least,  the  worthy  successor  of  the  long  line  of 
jurists  who  have  occupied  the  woolsack,  —  of 
Bacon,  Lyndhurst,  Eldon.  The  log-shanty  was  a 
hovel  no  longer,  but  a  croft,  a  grange,  a  farmstead 
—  a  thing  to  draw  in  pencil,  to  paint  in  oil,  to 
photograph.  Moss  and  flowers,  and  patches  of 
thrifty  greenery,  planted  themselves  in  all  the 
places  where  they  could  add  to  its  beauty  and 
show  themselves  off  to  the  best  advantage — the 
vain  things ! 

Then,  the  roof  being  thus  made  far  better  than 
it  had  ever  been  in  its  best  days,  the  walls  were 
made  far  worse  in  a  house-builder's  view:  the 
"chinking"  was  completely  removed  (it  had  al- 


LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM.  511 

ready  largely  removed  itself),  and  the  free  air  and 
light  of  heaven  thus  allowed  unobstructed  ingress 
and  egress ;  so  that  the  structure  was  thenceforth 
a  cool  and  shady  summer-house ;  a  nesting-place 
for  pigeons  and  swallows,  and  the  favorite  play 
house  for  dogs,  cats,  and  other  household  pets. 

The  "  girdled  forty "  next  behind  has  given 
place  to  "  the  best  orchard  in  all  Illinois,"  and 
a  kitchen  garden  has  been  added  which  serves  as 
a  supply  to  the  residents  of  this  farm,  and  as  an 
educator  to  all  the  other  farms  and  their  owners, 
showing  them  what  variety  of  good  eatables  is 
available  to  the  granger  in  lieu  of  the  everlasting 
u  pork  'n'  taters  "  of  the  pioneer. 

But  what  has  come  over  the  later  board  palace 
that  used  to  be  so  hopelessly  hideous?  It  is  still 
there;  but  so  hidden  in  its  own  improvements  as 
to  be  utterly  unrecognizable.  Its  whole  south 
side  is  occupied  by  a  greenhouse  and  hot-house 
glorious  to  behold,  opening  out  on  a  flower-garden 
worthy  of  it ;  all  showing  by  inherent  signs  that 
they  are  the  delight  of  some  ladylike  soul,  aided 
by  a  gentlemanlike  purse. 

The  side  of  the  house  that  looks  toward  the 
forest  has  burgeoned  out  into  a  kitchen  and  laun 
dry,  fit  to  make  the  housework  of  the  family 
almost  a  delight  instead  of  a  hardship,  supple 
mented  as  they  are  by  a  tall  wind-mill  and  high 
tanks,  which  keep  the  house  supplied  with  water 
both  hard  and  soft.  At  a  little  distance,  half 
buried  in  the  lawn,  stands  a  gas-house  —  still  quite 
a  novelty  in  country  places. 


512  ZURY. 

But  the  "feature  "  of  the  mansion  is  an  eighteen- 

o 

feet-wide  piazza  that  runs  entirely  around  the  re 
maining  two  sides  of  the  old  square  structure  ;  in 
some  places  latticed  for  climbing  plants,  and  else 
where  open  for  sun  and  air ;  connected  with  the 
interior  rooms  by  great  glazed  doors  opening  to 
the  floor,  instead  of  windows  ;  in  short,  the  coolest, 
warmest,  most  breezy,  most  sheltered  place  that 
ever  a  favored  child  was  turned  loose  into  to  be 
happy  in. 

/  Now  to  give  the  finishing-touch  to  the  whole 
picture;  the  final  chord  to  the  sonata;  the  key 
stone  to  the  arch ;  the  crown  to  the  work ;  the 
signature  to  the  indenture  ;  the  moral  to  the  tale, 
and  the  point  to  the  moral.  * 

On  the  great  porch  hangs  a  hammock,  deeply 
depressed  by  a  short,  solid  weight  in  its  middle. 
At  one  extremity  of  the  heavy  bundle  may  be 
observed  a  mass  of  fiery  red  curly  hair ;  at  the 
other,  a  pair  of  stout  little  legs  almost  equally  red 
—  and  curly.  Above  and  around  the  sleeper 
hangs,  in  gauzy  folds,  a  mosquito  netting,  stretched 
over  an  umbrella-like  frame,  suspended  by  a  cord 
that  passes  .over  a  pulley  in  the  ceiling  and  comes 
down  to  a  fastening  within  convenient  reach. 

As  we  look,  there  occurs  a  stirring  in  the  pre 
cious  little  bundle :  arms  and  legs  seem  to  resume 
accustomed  activity  after  unaccustomed  quiet.  At 
the  first  sound,  a  matronly  figure  steps  quickly  and 
gracefully  out  from  one  of  the  open  doors,  goes  to 
the  fastened  cord  and  pulls  the  mosquito  net  up 
to  the  roof.  By  this  time  two  fat  hands  have 


LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM.  613 

grasped  the  sides  of  the  hammock,  and  a  hand 
some,  blue-eyed  boy-face  is  raised  with  difficulty 
above  the  edge. 

"  I  ront  my  poppa." 

"  Here  V>  mamma.  Doesn't  Willie  want  his 
mamma?"' 

"  No.     I  ront  my  poppa." 

"  Papa  is  gone  out  on  the  farm." 

"Gone  yidin'?" 

41  Yes.     Shall  juamma  take  Willie  up?" 

"Yidin'  on  Plnce?" 

"  Yes ;  riding  on  Prince.    But  mamma  is  here." 

"  I  ront  t'  go  yidin'  on  P'ince." 

"  Papa  will  take  you  when  he  comes  home. 
Now,  does  n't  Willie  want  to  come  with  mamma?" 

"  No." 

"Doesn't  Willie  love  his  dear  mamma?" 

"  No.     I  ront  my  sisty  Med." 

"  Sister  Meg  is  in  Spring ville." 

"At  the  bid  house?" 

"  Yes ;  at  the  big  brick  house.  Now  come  and 
play  with  mamma." 

"I  ront  —  tumbody." 

"There  isn't  anybody  else,  my  darling." 

"Yes;  is  too!     Tumbody  else." 

"No,  my  blessing;  just  papa  and  mamma,  and 
Sister  Meg  and  Willie.  There  ought  to  be  some- 
bodv  else,  but  there  is  n't." 

""What  'oo  tyin'  for?" 

"I'm  crying  because  there  isn't  anybody  else. 
Now  come  and  kiss  poor  mamma ! " 

"No.     I  ront  Sep." 


514  ZLJRY. 

"  Well,  Willie  shall  have  dear  old  Shep."  She 
whistled  clear  and  shrill,  and  lo,  lumbering  along 
with  awkward  alacrity,  comes  a  ludicrously  exact 
reproduction  of  the  pristine  Shep  —  he  of  chapter 
first.  All  things  else  have  changed  since  we  first 
saw  them,  because  they  have  endured :  he  alone 
is  the  same,  because  he  has  died  repeatedly.  In 
dividuals  alter,  but  types  are  perennial. 

Shep  is  the  patient,  docile,  and  long-suffering 
attendant  on  his  young  master.  He  seems  to  rec 
ognize  the  fact  that  to  play  with  the  boy  is  his 
most  valid  excuse  for  existence.  The  mother 
leaves  the  two  playmates  and  returns  to  her 
book ;  and  soon  there  is  a  long  row  of  blocks, 
wheeled  rabbits,  Noah's  ark,  tail-less  and  head 
less  animals,  and  other  heterogeneous  accessories, 
tied  by  a  string  to  the  collar  of  the  dog,  and  being 
dragged  about  the  piazza  in  large  curves  ;  the  boy 
leading  the  locomotive  power,  and  adding  to  his 
duties  as  engine-driver  the  more  onerous  task  of 
making  the  "  choo-choo-choo "  and  the  long 
"  hoooooot "  as  the  train  approaches  its  stations. 

Now  the  sound  of  an  approaching  wagon  is 
heard ;  not  a  rattle  of  wheels  by  any  means,  but 
the  slow,  creaking  noise  of  a  farm-vehicle  moved 
by  horses  more  accustomed  to  drag  the  laboring 
plow  than  to  turn  the  festive  wheel. 

"  Why,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  here  come 
the  Ansteys!  Jule  !  Jule  !  Run  and  take  care 
of  Uncle  Anstey's  team.  Drive  up  to  the  step- 
blocks,  Uncle  Anstey.  There,  that's  right!" 
And  as  snowy-headed  Jule  took  the  horses  by  the 


LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM.     515 

bridles  with  needless  care,  Anne  helped  the  old, 
old  woman  out  and  down,  and  kissed  her  heartily, 
while  the  old  man  drove  on  to  look  for  his  beloved 
Zury. 

"  Wai,  wal !  The  Lord  bless  V  presarve  ye, 
Anne  Praouder  !  I  didn'  never  'llaow  t*  git  s'  fur 
f  m  home  agin  —  not  till  I  'm  carr'd  feet-foremost. 
But  I  'd  heered  sech  wonders  'baout  ye,  V  yer 
haouse,  't  I  'llaowed  I  'd  jes'  try  V  ketch  a  glimpse 
o'  heaven  on  th'  yarth,  in  case  I  should  n't  never 
git  t'  see  it  nowher's  else." 

"  Heaven  !  You  !  Well,  I  tell  you,  Aunty  An- 
stey,  I  never  want  to  go  there  if  it  's  a  kind  of 
place  where  your  kind  of  folks  are  n't  wanted  ! 
But  how  well  you  look.  Here,  sit  down  and 
rest." 

"  Ya-as :  a  feller  he  come  along  by  th'  haouse 
V  had  s'm  stuff  't  he  as't  a  dollar  a  bottle  fer  ;  'n' 
seein'  it  come  so  high  I  knowed  it  must  be  good ; 
'n'  he  jest  called  fer  a  spune  'n'  gimme  a  dose 
right  then  'n'  thar  —  didn'  tax  me  a  cent  fur  it. 
'N'  then  I  'xplained  tew  him  's  haow  I  wuz  a 
pledged  total  abstainer,  'n'  could  n't  take  no  sper- 
rits,  4iot  t'  save  my  life ;  'n'  he  larfed,  'n'  'llowed 
th'  war  n't  no  sperits  in  this,  only  jest  enough  t' 
cut  the  sensual  iles  of  the  rewts  it  wuz  made  of; 
'n'  arter  I  tuk  the  fust  swaller  he  didn't  have  t' 
wait  five  minutes  by  th'  sun  afore  he  hed  his  dol 
lar  'n'  I  hed  a  bottle.  It 's  t'  be  took  afore  eatin' 
'n'  arter  eatin',  'n'  afore  sleepin'  'n'  arter  sleepin', 
'n'  wunst-in-a-while  between-times.  I  fetched  it 
along  in  case  ye  sh'd  be  anyways  ailin'  —  yew  er 
the  babe  —  'n'  sh'd  like  t'  try  it." 


516  ZURY. 

The  old  soul  produced  a  large,  dark,  square, 
high-shouldered,  suspicious  looking  bottle,  and 
drew  the  cork  ;  whereupon  a  strong  smell  of  al 
cohol  pervaded  all  that  part  of  Spring  County. 
Anne  studied  the  label,  and  made  a  pretense  of 
committing  to  memory  the  name  and  address,  but 
declined  to  take  a  dose  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
or  to  administer  one  to  her  little  one. 

"  Ain't  ther  noth'n'  the  matter  on  him,  't  a 
dose  mougJit  knock  ?  " 

"  Not  a  thing  in  the  world  !  He 's  just  perfec 
tion,  body  and  soul !  " 

"  Wai,  he  dew  look  pootty  peart.  Still,  ye  can't 
tell  b't  what  the'  mought  be  suth'n'  jes'  a-comin' 
on  th't  this  'd  knock  ef  took  in  time.  Thet  's  th' 
gret  thing  —  t'  take  remedies  in  time.  Lemme 
jes'  look  ^at  his  tongue.  Come  h'yar,  sonny,  V 
see  yer  ol'  gran'-mom  fer  a  spell !  " 

Thereupon  the  train  started  for  the  most  dis 
tant  corner  of  the  veranda,  turning  round  an  un 
usually  short  curve  with  a  suddenness  that  laid 
Noah's  Ark,  rabbit,  two  horses,  and  an  ele 
phant,  flat  on  their  sides,  in  which  condition  they 
were  compelled  to  make  the  rest  of  the  trip,  by 
the  urgent  necessity  of  escaping  from  the  old 
lady. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Anstey,  you  don't  know  how  well  he 
is  !  And  so  bright !  And  so  loving  !  Why,  it 
was  only  a  week  ago  last  Friday,  about  this  time 
in  the  afternoon,  or  a  little  earlier,  when  he  woke 
up  from  his  afternoon  nap,  he  kissed  me  without 
my  asking  him  to !  " 


LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM.   517 

"  Dew  tell !  I  wanter  know  !  "  The  old  wo 
man  spoke  with  civil  hypocrisy,  for  she  could  in 
no  wise  comprehend  or  sympathize  with  such  sen 
timental  ecstasy.  Thereupon  Anne  went  on  at 
great  length,  expatiating  on  the  glories  and  beau 
ties  of  the  new  miracle  of  humanity  —  a  theme 
older  and  more  wonderful  than  that  commonly 
known  as  "  the  old,  old  story." 

"  Naow  Mis  Sparrer  —  McVey  —  Praouder,  I 
should  say  —  ef  ye  '11  gimme  a  spune  I  '11  jes'  take 
a  spunefle,  'n'  I  want  yer  t'  show  me  some  o'  them 
things  I  heerd  tell  on.  ThL  dew  say  's  haow  ye 
jes'  hev  t'  go  t'  th'  wall  'n'  turn  a  handle,  'n'  th' 
hot  water  '11  pour  aout ;  'n'  turn  another,  'n'  th' 
col'  water  '11  pour  aout;  'n'  turn  another  'n'  th' 
rume  '11  heat  up  afore  ye  kin  say  Jack  Robison  ; 
'n'  turn  another  'n'  ye  hev  a  light  'thaout  no  lamp 
ner  candle." 

"  Surely,  Aunty  !  I  '11  show  them  all  to  you." 
And  she  went  to  the  wall  and  pulled  a  bell- 
rope. 

"  Wha'  'd  ye  dew  then  ?  Did  ye  turn  a  handle 
then  ?  " 

"  No.  I  just  pulled  this,  and  it  has- a  wire  that 
reaches  one  of  the  bells  in  the  kitchen — there's 
a  whole  line  of  bells,  one  marked  'parlor'  and 
one  marked  4  door '  and  so  on.  This  one  is  marked 
4  porch  '  —  and  here  comes  Sarah.  Sarah,  bring  a 
tablespoon,  please,  for  Mrs.  Anstey." 

"  Lawzee  snz,  and  sakes  alive !  That  thar  gal 
'11  dew  anythin'  ye  tell  her  tew,  I  s'pose  !  Ef  ye 
wuz  t'  tell  her  t'  git  right  daown  on  her  han's  'n' 


518  ZURY. 

knees  V  scrub  the  floor,  I  s'pose  she  'd  jes'  up  V 
dew  it !     No  relation  o'  yourn,  nuther,  is  she?  " 

"  No  relation  that  I  know  of ;  but  indeed  she 
would  do  anything  I  asked  her,  —  and  gladly,  too  ! 
Why  she  scrubs  this  floor  every  day  without  any 
telling,  if  it  needs  it !  She  is  very  fond  of  me  — 
and  I  am  of  her.  All  I  fear  is  that  she'll  marry 
soon,  and  I : shall  lose  her;  and  all  the  reason  why 
she  does  n't,  is  simply  that  she  hates  to  leave  me." 

"  Sakes  alive !  Haowdy,  Sarey,  haowdy !  "  (shak 
ing  hands  as  she  takes  the  spoon.)  "  I  'm  pleased 
t'  make  yer  'quaintance.  I  'm  ol'  Mis  Anstey  't 
lives  daown  in  th'  bottom  timber.  Mebbe  ye 
heerd  tell  o'  me.  Be  ye  pootty  peart?  " 

The  smiling  Sarah  confessed  that  she  was  quite 
well. 

"Naow,  Sarey,  ef  you  '11  jes'  wait  a  half  a  min 
ute  I  '11  give  ye  the  spune  agin."  And  the  old 
woman  poured  out  her  dose  with  trembling  hands, 
and  at  the  same  time  poured  forth  praises  of  the 
medicine  —  which  also  breathed  out  its  own 
charms  loudly  on  the  circumambient  air. 

"  'N'  Sarey,  ef  ye  'd  like  t'  try  a  dose  on  it  ye 
're  heartily  welcome  !  Ye  dunno  whut  it  mought 
cure  ye  of  —  er  keep  ye  fr'm  hevin'." 

Sarah  gratefully  declined  and  departed  with 
the  spoon,  while  Anne  carefully  shut  the  lattice 
gates  designed  to  keep  the  youngest  scion  of  the 
Prouder  race  from  rolling  down  the  steps.  Then 
they  began  the  tour  of  the  house,  the  good  old 
soul's  spirits  being  raised  and  her  tongue  loosened 
by  her  "medicine." 


LAST  LOOK  AT   THE  PROUDER  FARM.      519 

First  the  drawing-room. 

"  Oh  naow,  Anne  Praouder,  yew  jes'  git  aout ! 
Ef  thar  ain't  yew  'n'  Zury  a-hanging  agin  the 
wall  jes'  like  the  'd  ben  a  lynchin'  —  only  the 
gold  frames  !  Ha-ans'm  !  Yum -yum  —  !  Ye  'd 
better  believe  it !  Wai,  of  all  and  of  all !  I  'd 
jes'  love  t'  set  h'yer  all  day  'n'  look  at  ye,  ye 
pootty  creeter !  "  and  she  caressed  Acne's  hand 
affectionately.  "  Jes'  look  at  the  eyes  on  'em ! 
They  mus'  be  fixed  so  's  t'  turn  raound  somehaow 
—  ther'  looks  jes'  follers  me  wherever  I  go  !  A.rC 
the  books !  Hev  yew  read  all  them  books  ?  No 
wonder  ye  're  so  all-fired  smart !  " 

"  Now  look  over  there  in  the  corner  by  the  win 
dow,  Aunt  Anstey.  That 's  Mr.  Prouder's  desk  ; 
look  at  the  little  picture  hanging  above  it." 

44  Fer  the  land's  sake,  the  picter  ye  did  of  the 
ol'  log-shanty  'n'  the  new  frame  haouse  when  ye 
wuz  a-boardin'  raound  !  Don't  it  look  old-timey 
though  ?  I  s'pose  ye  keep  that  t'  remind  Zury 
haow  humble  he  started  aout !  Wai,  it 's  all 
turned  aout  fer  th'  best,  thank  the  Lord!  But 
them  wuz  pootty  measly  times!  " 

44  No,  he  thinks  more  of  that  than  of  any  other 
picture  we  have  in  the  house,  and  he  says  it 's 
because  those  were  the  blessed  days  when  he  first 
met  Anne  Sparrow  !  " 

44Dooz,  dooz  he?  Wai,  I'm  glad  he  hez  the 
sense  t'  recognize  his  chief est  heavenly  marcy  ! 
He  wuz  a  pootty  poor  speciment  in  them  days,  'n' 
would  a  be  'n  so  yet  ef  it  had  n't  a  be  'n  fer  yew !  " 

Next  came   the   bath-room,  for  the  "  handles " 


520  ZURY. 

that  governed  the  hot  and  cold  water  had  taken 
the  strongest  hold  on  the  imagination  of  the  old 
household  care-taker. 

44  There,  Aunty,  just  turn  that  one,  and  you'll 
see  how  it  works." 

"I'm  a  leetle  afeared  —  ye  know  I  ain't  uster 
sech  things  —  haow  much  shell  I  turn  it?  —  thar! 
Sakes  alive  see  it  come,  see  it  come,  see  it  come ! 
'N'  pours  right  daown  inter  th'  tub !  No  waitin' 
till  some  arternoon  when  ye  've  got  time.  No 
well-sweep,  ner  yit  a  windlass,  ner  yit  a  pump ; 
V  no  carr'in  th'  bucket,  V  fillin'  th'  kittle,  V 
choppin'  s'm  wood,  'n'  startin'  th'  fire,  'n'  waitin' 
till  it  biles,  'n'  then  huntin'  th'  holder,  'n'  takin'  on 
it  off,  'n'  pourin'  it  in  th'  wash-tub,  'n'  then  — 
cleanin'  yerself  'n'  thro  win'  th'  slops  aouter  win 
der." 

"No!  You  just  take  your  bath  and  then  pull 
this  chain  ;  see  ?  All  the  water  runs  down  the 
drain-pipe  into  the  garden-pit." 

"  Wai,  I  thank  the  Lord  I  lived  t'  see  this 
day ! " 

Then  the  glories  of  the  spacious,  well-appointed 
kitchen,  with  its  clean,  leisurely  maids,  were  duly 
honored.  Then  the  bed-rooms,  palatial  in  the  vis 
itor's  eyes.  Then  the  gas  was  turned  on  and 
lighted,  and  the  heating  apparatus  shown  off. 
Then  the  green-house  and  garden  furnished  new 
occasion  for  exclamations  of  delight.  But,  last  of 
all,  the  old  woman  wanted  to  see  once  more  the 
hot  and  cold  water  pour  out  of  "holes  in  the  wall  " 
—  that  appealed  most  strongly  of  all  to  her  love 
of  the  wonderful. 


LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM.   521 

"  When  matches  fust  come  in,  I  thought  it  wuz 
a  merikle  t'  jest  scrape  a  little  cold  stick  'n'  hev 
a  fire  right  off.  Then  when  a  guerryotyper  come 
along  'n'  tuk  my  ol'  man  so  it  seemed  's  though 
he  'd  jes'  looked  in  th'  glass  'n'  th'  image  hed  struck 
in  'n'  stuck  thar —  thet  wuz  another.  Then  the 
railroad  come  along.  But  this  beats  'em  all.  Ye 
jes'  turn  th'  handle,  so-fashion,  'n'  thar  ye  be ! 
Yes— I  thank  the  Lord!" 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Mrs.  Anstey,  you  must  come 
and  stay  with  me,  arid  then  you  shall  get  to  know 
all  these  things." 

"  Oh,  it's  enough  fer  me  t'  see  'em  all  'thaoub 
a-usin'  on  em  !  I  don't  wonder  Sarey  don't  wanter 
quit  seek,  a  place  !  I  sh'd  think  ye  could  n't  dog 
her  away  !  If  I  wuz  her  no  man  could  n't  per 
suade  me  t'  marry  him  'n'  go ;  no,  ner  come  with 
in  forty  rows  of  apple-trees  of  it,  nuther !  Not  if 
he  wuz  as  rich  as  Julius  Caesar! " 

At  another  time  she  did  make  the  proposed 
visit,  and  took  her  first  "  tub."  Anne  knocked  at 
the  door  to  ask  if  she  had  everything  she  needed  ; 
and  she  replied  :  "  I  've  got  in,  at  last ;  'n'  I  feel 
jest  like  I  wuz  a-floatin'  in  th'  claouds  o'  heaven  ! " 

When  old  Anstey  left  his  wife  with  Anne,  he 
drove  forward  to  have  some  talk  with  Zury.  His 
mare  (aet.  twenty),  with  the  discretion  born  of 
years  of  reflection,  allowed  her  end  of  the  double 
tree  to  lie  back  as  far  as  it  would  go ;  whence  it 
arose  that  her  single-tree  was  almost  worn  in  two 
by  the  wheel.  At  the  same  time  her  mate  "  the 
colt "  (aet.  twelve),  in  all  the  enthusiasm  of  youth, 


522  ZURY. 

pressed  forward  regardless  of  her  expostulatory 
bites,  and  was  always  a  yard  in  advance  of  bis 
mother. 

Zury  was  at  the  "  bottom  field,"  a  patch  ad 
joining  the  river,  known  throughout  the  region  as 
a  marvel  of  unfailing  fertility.  Those  bottoms 
are  of  Nile-like  formation  and  productiveness. 
Whatever  drought  prevails,  there  is  always  "corn 
in  Egypt."  The  only  drawback  is  that  every  two 
or  three  years  the  river  rises  and  carries  away 
fences,  sheds,  stacks,  and  all  other  adjuncts  of 
farming  from  all  the  "  bottom  fields,"  excepting 
of  course  those  appertaining  to  the  Prouder  farm, 
where  there  are  no  loose  properties  allowed ;  the 
fences  and  sheds  being  held  up  by  stakes  set  deep 
in  the  ground  below  the  yielding  surface. 

"  Wai,  Uncle  Anstey !  That  can't  never  be 
you,  can  it?." 

"  Ya-as  ;  it 's  me  yet  awhile  Zury.  Not  fer  long 
though  —  not  fer  long." 

"  Oh,  you  sho ! "  rejoined  the  younger  man, 
pressing  his  horse  close  to  the  wagon  and  leaning 
forward  for  the  accustomed  hand-shake.  "  You  're 
good  t'  bury  me  yet !  I  oilers  'llowed  fer  ye  t'  be 
one  o'  my  bearers." 

44  Wai,  not  hardly,  Zury.  I  'm  workin'  on  borry'd 
time — twelve  years  on  borry'd  time  last  March." 

"Borry'd  time?" 

44  Ya-as ;  I  used  up  my  three-score-'n'-ten  more 
ner  twelve  years  ago :  be'n  a  livin'  'aout  some 
other  feller's  leavin's  sence  that." 

44  Oh,  I  see !     Wai,   the'  's  a  plenty  o'  fellers 


LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM.       523 

drunk  'emselves  t'  death,  'n'  fooled  away  the'r 
health  th'  way  yew  never  did,  t'  leave  years  'n' 
years  a-layin'  'raound  loose  —  more  'n  you  'n'  me  '11 
ever  need." 

"  Thasso-thasso,  friend  Rice  !  But  yew  look 
likely  t'  to  use  up  a  big  slew  on  Vm,  Zury  !  Never 
seen  a  man  grow  young  th'  way  yew  be'n  a  dewin' ! 
Sakes  alive !  Mus'  be  suth'n'  th'  same  way  ol' 
Solomon  wuz  kep'  alive,  'cordin'  t'  th'  Scripters  ! 
He-he-he!" 

"Wai,  wal ;  if  happiness  can  do  a  man  good, 
I  'd  oughter  be  pootty  healthy.  All  th't  heart 
can  wish  !  Makes  me  tremble  sometimes  when  I 
think  how  any  changes  mus'  be  fer  the  wuss  !  All 
th't  heart  can  wish  !  '" 

"  Glad  on  it,  Znry.  Glad  ye  don't  want  into 
Congress  ner  noth'n'." 

"  Why,  ef  I  thought  Anne  would  care  to  have 
me  go :  what  is  there  about  political  matters  jest 
now,  anyhow?  " 

"  Wal,  t'  tell  ye  the  truth,  Zury,  'course  lots  on 
us  '11  work  fer  ye  's  long  's  ye  say  th'  word.  But 
I  don't  give  ye  no  spesh'l  incouridgement." 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter?" 

"  Wal,  it 's  this-a-way."  (Here  the  old  man  be 
came  visibly  embarrassed.)  "  Th'  fellers  suspish'n 
ye,  'n'  yer  wife  tew,  fr'm  some  things  the'  Ve  ob- 
sarved,  of  bein'  —  mind  the'  don't  all  lean  that-a- 
way,  but  some  dooz — 'n'  I  ain't  no  ways  pards 
with  them  as  dooz  —  ner  I  wun't  go  fer  t'  name 
them  as  dooz,  fer  mebbe  they  'm  a-actin'  up  t' 
the'r  lights,  'n'  I  kin  disagree  with  'em  'thaout 


524  ZURY. 

a-blamin'  on  'em  —  fer  who  am  I  th'fc  I  sh'd  set 
up  fer  t'  jedge  'em"  — 

Here  the  old  man  paused  as  if  loath  to  break 
the  awful  charge  to  the  man  against  whom  it  was 
harbored,  perhaps  with  cruel  injustice. 

"  Out  with  it,  Uncle  Anstey !  I  've  got  to  stand 
it  I  suppose.  And  I  can  stand  it  if  they  can.  But 
let  'em  look  out  before  they  whisper  a  word  agin 
Anne  —  agin  my  wife!  The  man  don't  walk  the 
footstool  who  can  do  that  and  not  be  sorry  for  it! 
Him  that  tries  it  on  must  take  the  consequences ! " 

As  he  spoke  his  face  darkened  and  hardened  in 
drawn  level  lines  till  it  looked  like  a  mask  of 
Vengeance  carved  in  Scotch  granite.  This  look 
was  accompanied  by  one  that  spoke  an  old  pain, 
regret,  mortification,  shame,  remorse. 

u  Oh,  the'  don't  blame  yew  no  more  'n  her,  ner 
her  no  more  'n  yew,  on'y  she  bein'  a  woman,  'n' 
comin'  fr'm  Bosting;  the' c'nsider  that  an  excuse. 
'N'  then,  as  t'  the  consekences,  th'  hoss-shedders 
don't  scare  wuth  a  cent.  Yew  know  that!" 

"  Any  man  tlft  reaches  his  hand  towards  her; 
he  better  consider  consequences  !  They  '11  foller 
him  !  He  wun't  get  shet  of  'em  this  side  o'  king 
dom  come!  " 

"  The  fellers,  ner  the'r  wives  nuther,  don't  give 
a  continental  fer  no  consekences;  a-sayin'  whut 
the'  think  's  sol" 

"Wai,  out  with  it;  wha'  'd  they  'How?" 

"'Course  ye  wun't  harbor  no  hard  feelin's  agin 
me  fer  a-bringin'  on  it  t'  yer  knowledge  ?  " 

"Nary  a  mite." 


LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM.   525 

"I  mebbe  wrong,  but  I  'm  a  doin'  on  it  fer  th' 
best.  I'm  a  doin'  's  I'd  be  done  by.  Ef  folks 
wuz  t'  git  up  V  talk  agin'  me  V  my  ol'  woman 
the'  way  the'  dooz  agin  yew  'n'  yewrs  —  though  I 
don't  expect  the'  'd  ever  pick  on  us  fer  any  thin' 
that-a-way  " —  And  he  laughed  uneasily. 

"No;  not  likely." 

"  But  ef  so  be  the'  should,  why  I  'd  take  it  t'  be 
th'  part  of  a  ol'  friend  t'  up  'n'  aout  with  it  — 
spit  it  right  aout,  hit  er  miss." 

"Yes,  yes,"  groaned  Zury.  "Do  it!  Say  it! 
Spit  it  out!  I  expect  I  can  stand  it." 

"Wai,  ef  ye  will  hev  it,  h'yer  goes, — 

"  THE'  'LLAOW  YE  'RE  A-PUTTIN'  ON 
SCOLLOPS." 

He  paused  to  observe  the  crushing  effect  of  this 
awful  indictment ;  almost  the  most  hopelessly 
fatal  that  can  be  found  against  any  Western  polit 
ical  aspirant.  Treason,  arson,  homicide,  —  even 
horse-stealing  could  scarcely  be  worse !  Great 
was  his  consternation  at  Zury's  way  of  receiving 
the  deadly  blow.  The  accused  smiled,  grinned, 
chuckled,  laughed,  and  even  roared  with  amuse 
ment  and  relief.  In  all  their  long  acquaintance 
Anstey  had  never  seen  his  strong,  cool  friend  in 
such  a  transport  of  merriment.  It  may  be  doubted 
if  any  one  had  —  if  Zury  himself  could  look  back 
on  another  such  outburst. 

"  Whut  tickles  ye,  Zury  ?  Whut 's  the  matter? 
Be  ye  crazy,  er  whut?  Be  ye  perpared  t'  deny 
whut  the'  say,  'n'  prove  it  on  'em  ?  " 

"  Deny  what  they  say  ?     That 's  owin'  t'  what 


526  ZURY. 

the'  dew  say.  Ye  hain't  told  me  yet.  What's 
the  specifications  ?  " 

"  Why,  fer  one  thing,  the'  'llaow  ye  don't  oilers 
talk  country-fashion.  When  ye  pass  th'  time  o' 
day  er  what  not  with  yer  ol'  neighbors  ;  why  then 
it  saounds  pootty  much  th'  same  's  ever  ;  but  when 
ye  talk  t'  strangers  —  conf rence  delegates,  city- 
folks  a  visitin'  yer  wife,  er  what  not ;  why  then 
ye  kind  o'  clip  yer  wurds  like  stuck-up  Eastern 
folks,  V  'ffected  Europian  furriners  th't  plain 
English  ain't  good  enough  fer." 

44  They  do,  do  they  ?  Wai,  what  else  do  they 
charge?" 

"  Wai,  the'  'llaow  't  whut  with  sarvints,  V 
stablemen  'n'  one  thing  another,  ye 've  both  got 
so  's  ye  can't  wait  on  yerselves  no  more.  Naow, 
thet  tber  hoss  ye  're  a  ridin'  on  — his  coat  'd  dew 
fer  a  lookin'- glass  a  gal  c'd  see  her  freckles  in  — 
'n'  his  tail 's  banged  square  off  like  th'  butt  of  a 
wheat-sheaf.  I  don't  expect  ye  Ve  laid  a  curry 
comb  on  him  yerself  this  blessed  day  !  " 

"  Guess  not !  Ye  want  me  t'  break  old  Jule's 
heart?" 

"Wai,  ef  th'  Allwise  bed  a  wanted  bosses'  tails 
to  a  looked  like  that,  couldn't  he  a  made  'em 
growed  so?  " 

*'  Like  enough.  I  expect  he  can  do^nost  any 
thing  Jule  can  do." 

"'Course  he  kin!  'N'  more  tew,  ef  ye  come 
t'  that ! " 

"  Should  n't  wonder.  What  more  do  they  charge 
agin  me?" 


LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM.      527 

"  Oh,  it  'pears  t'  them  's  though  ye  don't  take 
no  more  stock  in  common  folks  like  them  —  don't 
care  fer  the'r  'pinions,  ner  fer  the'r  votes  —  don't 
condescend  t'  lay  aout  t'  please  low-down  trash 
like  yer  old  constitooents.  The'  ain't  never  no 
hayseed  in  yer  ha'r,  ner  parara  mud  on  yer  butes. 
Ye 're  oilers  fixed  up  fine  —  stan'-up  collar  V 
straps  t'  yer  pants:  'n'  the'  dew  say  —  mebbe  its 
a  lie  —  ye  putt  on  a  clean  biled  shirt  every  day  I" 

"  Sho  now !     Do  they  say  that  ?  " 

"  The'  jest  dew !  I  tol'  'm  it  wuz  a  cam 
paign  lie ;  but  the'  'llaowed  th'  women  folks  hed 
caounted  th'  wash  a  hangin'  on  th'  clo's-lines." 

"Why  didn't  ye  tell  'em  mebbe  th'  shirts  wuz 
Jule's?" 

"  Oh,  't  wouldn't  dew  no  good  —  anybody  kin 
see  Jule's  hickory  wunst  a  month." 

"  Anything  else,  for  the  land's  sake  ?  " 

"Wai,  naow  ye  speak  on  it,  the  wust  comes 
last.  That  thar  ha'r  on  yer  upper  lip ! " 

"Same  fellers  finds  fault  with  that  who  pass 
remarks  on  old  Prince's  banged  tail?" 

"Wai,  yes;  its  the  giner'l  talk  o'  th'  hoss- 
shed." 

"  Would  ye  advise  me  to  shave  it  off,  Uncle?" 

"  Ef  it  wuz  mine,  I  'd  hev  it  off  so  quick  it  'd 
make  yer  head  swim  ! " 

"  Now,  look  here,  Uncle  Anstey,  jest  give  the 
hoss-shed  my  compliments,  and  tell  'em  that  if  the 
Allwise  had  wanted  my  lip  shaved,  he  could  a 
shaved  it,  jest  as  easy  as  rollin'  off  a  log." 

"  Oh,  th'  ain't  nobody  a  denyin'  thet,  's  I  know 
of." 


528  ZURY. 

44  And  tell  'em  that  jest  as  soon  as  they  let  their 
beards  grow  the  way  the  All  wise  starts  'em,  I  '11 
let  old  Prince's  tail  do  the  same." 

"  Oh,  the'  wun't  never  dew  it ! " 

"  And  tell  'em  that  I  know  some  medders  where 
hayseed  '11  do  a  heap  sight  better  than  it  will  in 
my  hair,  though  it  won't  raise  a  crop  of  votes." 

"  Hayseed  fer  a  crap  of  oats  ?  " 

"  Votes  I  said.  And  tell  'em  I  '11  see  all  their 
shirts,  and  them  in  'em,  biled  to  rags  before  I  '11 
consult  'em  about  the  bilin'  of  mine." 

Anstey  shook  his  head  in  regretful  disapproval. 

44  And  tell  'em  that  when  I  go  to  Washington, 
I  'm  goin'  to  make  believe  I  'm  sent  by  a  con- 
stuency  of  clean,  prosperous,  hard-working,  com 
mon-sense  American  citizens ;  not  by  a  lot  of 
jimpson-weed  galoots  !  " 

44  Oh,  wal ;  ye  wun't  never  go !  " 

Anstey  now  changed  the  subject.  Pushing  his 
foot  down  into  the  dark,  powdery  mould  (too  soft 
and  fine  to  be  turned  in  furrows),  he  said, — 

44  Meller  as  an  ash-heap,  ain't  it?  Lessee, 
haow  long  is  it  ye  be'n  a-crappin'  this  h'yer  bot 
tom  t'  corn?" 

44  Twenty-two  years,  without  a  halt  or  a  failure, 
excepting  three  seasons,  when  the  flood  swept  it 
too  late  to  replant.  Call  it  ten  acres,  and  throw 
off  the  odd  year,  this  little  patch  has  given  me 
full  thirteen  thousand  bushels  of  corn,  besides 
what  the  deer  have  eaten.  See  that  good  white 
oak  there  ?  I  hung  up  a  buck  on  that  tree  when 
it  was  a  sapling  ;  first  deer  I  ever  shot.  It  was 


LAST  LOOK  AT   THE  PROUDER  FARM.      529 

before  sun-up,  one  winter  morning,  when  I  was 
niggering  logs  to  fence  our  first  piece  up  on  the 
prairie  —  father's  it  was  then." 

"  It  '11  make  a  good  saw-cut  when  ye  want  one." 

"  Yes  ;  I  'd  a  had  it  to  mill  last  year,  only  Anne 
happened  round  here  on  horseback,  and  I  told  her 
about  the  deer  hanging  on  the  sapling,  and  she 
begged  for  its  life  for  the  sake  of  old  lang  syne ! " 

"  Women  is  cur'us  critters!" 

"  About  as  near  right  as  God  can  make  'em !" 

"/b'lieveye!" 

Then  they  started  slowly  toward  home,  Zury 
checking  the  impatient  Prince  to  keep  pace  with 
the  Anstey  team  —  that  ingenious  steed  securing 
his  desired  additional  action  by  ambling  sidewise 
wherever  the  road  was  wide  enough. 

u  Dunno  as  I  told  ye  about  our  goin'  travelin' 
shortly." 

"I  want  ter  know!  Clar  away  up  t'  Galeny 
agin?" 

"  Further  than  that." 

"  Wha  —  whut,  not  to  Bosting  !  " 

"  To  Boston  and  further  yet.  Clean  across  the 
Atlantic  Ocean." 

Anstey  brought  his  ever  ready  team  to  a  full 
stop  while  he  gazed,  open-mouthed,  at  the  speaker. 

"  Yes,  Uncle ;  c'mittee  of  the  whole  has  de 
cided  by  a  unanimous  vote  that  Europe  can't  go 
on  any  longer  without  being  seen.  Ayes  one ; 
that 's  my  wife.  Nays  none.  Absent  or  not  vot 
ing  two  ;  that 's  me  and  the  baby." 

This  stunning  news  produced  such  consterna- 


530  ZURY. 

tion  that  the  silence  of  their  progress  became  al 
most  oppressive.  The  elastic  prairie-roads  gave 
no  sound ;  only  the  squeak  of  the  old  rattle-trap 
wagon  broke  the  stillness.  It  seemed  to  be  com 
plaining  of  its  labors,  continued  too  far  into  de 
crepit  age  —  so  much  that  it  attracted  Zury's  no 
tice. 

"  The  old  scrap-heap  is  gettin'  shaky,  like  the 
rest  of  us,  ain't  she,  Uncle." 

"What?  This  wagin?  Oh,  she's  pootty  fair 
of  a  wagin  yit  awhile.  Last  me  threw,  I  guess, 
V  carry  me  to  th'  ber'rin'-graoun'." 

"  Tell  ye  what,  old  man,  I  've  been  botherin' 
my  head  about  how  to  collect  my  rent  from  the 
wagon-maker  that 's  workin'  in  that  blacksmith 
shop  of  mine.  I  've  seen  the  day  when  it  would 
have  come  near  keepin'  me  awake  nights — that 
doubtful  debt  —  near  to  a  hundred  dollars.  That 
day  is  past,  thank  God  ;  but  still  I  don't  wan't  to 
lose  it  altogether.  Here  's  the  shop-lot  now." 

As  they  pulled  up  at  the  door  he  called  out,  — 

"  Hello,  Jinks,  how  goes  it  ?  " 

"  Haowdy,  haowdy,  Zury  !  O'  man  Anstey,  I 
hope  I  see  ye !  " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  peart,  I  thankee." 

"  Wai,  Jinks,  how  be  ye  fixed  ?  " 

"  Same  's  ever,  Zury.  Hain't  sol'  m'  wagin  yit. 
Thar  she  stan's  —  put  up  at  odd  times,  by  days' 
works  —  she  's  's  good  as  the'  make  'em.  W^uth  a 
hunderd  'n'  twenty  ef  she  's  wuth  a  dime." 

"  Could  n't  turn  her  in  on  the  rent  and  call  it 
square  ?  " 


LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM.      531 

"  Wai,  gimme  a  leetle  more  rope,  V  ef  I  don't 
make  th'  riffle  some  other  way,  I'll  take  ye 
up." 

"  Tell  ye  what  I  11  do  :  if  ye  '11  take  me  up 
now,  I  '11  throw  in  this  old  one  and  call  quits." 

44  Done  !  I  kin  git  my  change  aouten  that  when 
I  've  fixed  her  up  V  give  her  a  coat  o'  paint." 

Here  an  unexpected  obstacle  cropped  up.  Old 
Anstey  "  got  up  on  his  ear." 

"  On  his  pale  cheek  the  flush  of  rage 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age. 
Fierce  he  broke  forth ' '  — 

"  Who 's  a-dickerin'  away  my  property  'thaout 
my  consent?" 

He  drove  off  in  a  huff  and  a  hurry,  using  the 
spare  ends  of  his  lines  in  a  way  that  took  his 
horses  by  surprise.  Age  and  poverty  had  not 
quelled  the  independence  of  the  pioneer. 

It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  Zury, 
riding  after  him,  could  get  speech  with  him. 

"  Naow  Zury,  ye  see  th'  fellers  is  mighty  right 
'baout  yer  bein'  away  offen  yer  ol'  time  manners ! 
When  ye  wuz  a-makin'  'n'  a-savin',  same  's  th'  rest 
on  us,  ve  would  n't  a  never  a  gone  t'  a  made  free 
with  no  man's  wagin  —  no,  not  ef  he  wuz  twice' t 
as  old  V  poor  's  I  be." 

"  Oh,  see  here,  Uncle  !  I  did  n't  mean  anything 
out  of  the  way." 

"  Wha'  'd  ye  do  it  fer,  then  ?  " 
"  Oh,  my  foot  slipped.     My  intentions  were  all 
O.  K.,  being  to  benefit  you,  and  get  my  rent  out  of 
that  ornery  skeezicks  at  the  same  time."     Zury 


532  ZURY. 

said  this  with  perfect  good  humor,  amused  with 
the  spirit  of  his  ancient  friend. 

"  I  don't  give  a  continental  whut  yer  intentions 
wuz !  'N'  as  fer  benefits,  we  ain't  none  on  us 
Spring  Caounty  men  'raound  a  askin  fer  no  fa- 
viors.  No  charity,  thankee,  this  side  o'  th'  poor- 
farm  'n'  the  grave!  No  matter  if  ye  hev  growed 
till  ye  're  most  aout  o'  sight  fr'm  th'  road !  " 

"  Of  course,  of  course  !  I  know  one  man  's  as 
good  as  another  !  " 

"  Yew  bet  he  is !  " 

"  And  mebbe  better." 

"  Like  enough  !  " 

"  But  then,  business  is  business.  You  and  the 
boys  can  haul  right  smart  more  corn  to  apply  on 
what  ye  owe  me,  pilin'  fifty  bushels  onto  a  wagin- 
load,  than  you  can  at  twenty-six  bushels." 

"  When  we  don't  pay  what  we  owe,  ye  've  got 
yer  legle  remedy.  As  fer  business  —  this  ain't 
business,  V  yew  know  it." 

"  Wai,  its  owin'  t'  how  ye  look  at  it.  What  d' 
ye  say  to  taking  the  wagon  at  a  hunderd  and  giv 
ing  me  yer  note  for  it  ?  " 

"  'N'  s'cure  th'  note  ontew  th'  ol'  morgidge?" 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

"  Why  did  n't  ye  say  so  fust  off?" 

"  Oh,  my  foot  slipped.  I  was  coming  to  it  af 
terwards." 

"  Wai,  I  dunno  but  whut  I  kin  'fford  a  hun 
derd  fer  the  wagin.  It  seems  a  pootty  good  of  a 
wagin." 

By  this  transparent  subterfuge  Zury  gained  his 


LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM.   533 

object  (as  usual)  and  the  Ansteys  drove  home  in 
the  splendid  new  wagon  after  all,  each  nearly  tum 
bling  out  on  his  or  her  side  in  enjoying  the  entran 
cing  view  of  their  new  property. 

As  Zury  and  Anstey  approached  the  home 
stead  the  old  man  said,  — 

"  Th'  oF  log  shanty  's  a-stan'in'  yit,  I  see." 

44  Oh,  yes  indeed  I  Anne  won't  never  hear  o' 
git  tin'  shet  o'  that !  " 

"  Tew  handy,  I  reck'n." 

"  N  —  no,  ye  know  women's  kinder  —  senti- 
mental-like.  Ye  'member  th'  ole  newspapers  I 
papered  it  with  —  thirty  years  ago  or  so  ?  " 

"  Ya-as.  My  ole  woman  tol'  me  haow  th'  wuz 
a  story  ye  read  aouter  them  papers,  't  ye  couldn't 
never  git  th'  eend  on  it ;  'n'  haow  Anne  Sparrow 
promised  ye  she  'd  tell  ye  the  rest." 

"  Jesso-jesso  !  Wai,  she 's  up  'n'  soaked  off  that 
thar  paper,  'n'  cleaned  off  the  sutt  'n'  flyspecks? 
'n'  got  it  pasted  inter  a  portfolio !  " 

"  Law  suz  !  'N'  made  off  the  nub  of  th'  story 
ferye?" 

"  No.     I  would  n't  let  her." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Wai,  fer  one  thing  —  she  's  kinder  told  it  tew 
me." 

"  So !     Haow  wuz  it  ?    All  O.  K." 

"  All  happy  !  This  is  it  I  'm  a  livin'  aout  t'-day  ! 
That 's  happy  enough,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"Yew  bet!" 

"  'N'  then,  she  says  she  '11  write  it  all  daown 


534  ZURY. 

afore  she  dies ;  V  I  b'lieve  her,  V  so  I  wanter 
put  it  off  till  arter  I  'm  dead." 

"  Oh  yew,  sho  !  Zury  Praouder  !  Yew  won't 
never  go  t'  Congress  !  "  (And  he  never  did.) 

After  early  tea,  a  marvel  of  almost  sinful  lux 
ury  to  the  old  folks,  Zury  must  needs  mount  his 
horse  again  to  see  them  safe  home  and  afterward 
i  ide  on  to  Way  back  for  the  mail  —  perhaps  a  let 
ter  from  Sister  Meg ! 

Then  Anne  sits  once  more  alone  by  the  open 
window-door,  while  "  Boy  "  and  Shep  go  on  with 
their  endless  railroad- training  on  the  porch.  She 
listens,  and  reads,  and  pauses  from  both  to  dream, 
and  look  back  and  look  forward. 

So  good-bye,  all !  If  any  patient  reader  remem 
bers  promises,  expressed  or  implied,  which  we 
have  put  forth  and  now  leave  unfulfilled,  and  asks 
"how  about  those  others?"  we  can  only  beg 
pardon,  and  urge  that  the  book  is  so  near  its  col 
ophon  that  we  have  no  room  to  make  a  fitting 
reply. 

"  Those  others,"  their  fortunes  and  misfortunes, 
must  pass  into  obscurity  and  oblivion  (save  as 
cherished  in  living  and  loving  sympathies),  or  — 
must  furnish  the  matter  for  another  book  of  chron 
icles. 

Now  a  low,  tuneful  whistle  comes  out  through 
Anne's  window  and  floats  on  the  sunset  air. 

"  Don't  whistle,  momma !  You  mate  Sep  ront 
to  do  'way  !  " 

"  But  mamma,  has  n't  had  any  little  boy  for  a 
long,  long  while  !  She  almost  feels  as  if  she  never 


LAST  LOOK  AT  THE  PROUDER  FARM.  535 

had  any  little  boy  !  Does  n't  her  own  Willie 
want  to  conie  and  visit  his  mamma  for  just  a  little 
while?" 

"  No  I  tan't.  I  tan't  leave  my  end-thin  —  it  11 
yun  away  'n'  bate  all  the  tars!  Choo-choo-choo- 
chah :  choo-choo-choo-chah :  Ooooooot !  " 


GLOSSARY. 


Allow,  v.  To  suppose,  think,  expect, 
intend,  conclude.  Also  to  say. 

Ary,  art.  E'er  a,  ever  a.  (The  re 
verse  of  "  nary.") 

Bedfast,  adj.     Confined  to  bed. 

Blaze,  n.  A  white  patch,  especially 
on  the  trunk  of  a  boundary-tree. 
v.  To  make  a  white  mark  by  strip 
ping  off  bark. 

Brashy,  adj.  Disintegrated,  weak, 
useless. 

Chink,  n.  An  interstice  between  logs. 
v.  To  fill  such  interstices. 

Chinking,  n.  Materials  -used  to  fill 
such  interstices. 

Chip  in,  v.  To  contribute  to  a  com 
mon  stock. 

Chivaree,  n.  A  burlesque  serenade ; 
usually  given  to  a  married  couple  by 
persons  not  invited  to  the  wedding. 

Chore,  n.  A  small  task  about  the 
house,  usually  outside. 

Chuck-hole,  n.  A  sudden  depression 
in  a  road-rut. 

Clamp  down,  v.     To  seize  upon. 

Clap-board,  n.  Roofing  made  by  split 
ting  logs. 

Close  call,  n.    A  narrow  escape. 

Coon's  age,  n.  A  great,  indefinite 
number  of  years. 

Dog-gone,  exp.  The  Western  equiva 
lent  of  "  goll-darn."  A  mild  male 
diction. 

Do-good,  n.  An  expedient.  A  make 
shift. 

Downey,  adj.     Ailing. 

Dozy,  adj.  Disintegrated,  useless, 
tending  to  decay. 

Favor,  v.    To  resemble. 

Fixed,  adv.    Provided  with  money. 

Fyce,  ».     A  small  cur. 


Galley-west,  adv.    To  destruction. 

Galoot,  n.  A  common,  uncultivated 
rustic. 

Gear,  n.  &  v.     Harness. 

Get,  v.  To  succeed  in ;  to  achieve. 
Also  to  purchase  on  credit.  To 
"  get  to  get,"  is  to  succeed  in  pur 
chasing  on  credit. 

Get  away  with.  To  vanquish,  con 
quer,  excel,  defeat,  surpass,  con 
sume. 

Get  up,  n.  Spirit,  spunk ;  pluck  in 
action,  motion,  or  appearance. 

Give  away,  v.  To  betray,  n.  Be 
trayal. 

Glut,  n.  A  wooden  wedge  used  in 
splitting  logs. 

Go,  n.  A  bargain  struck,  a  decision 
arrived  at,  a  start  (as  distinguished 
from  a  false  start),  v.  To  proceed 
intentionally. 

Good  and,  adv.  Extremely,  indubita 
bly,  unqualifiedly. 

Great  shakes,  n.  Esteem.  To  think 
great  shakes  of  anything  is  to  hold 
it  in  high  estimation. 

Grip,  n.  Holding  and  staying  power. 
Perseverance, 

Hard  lines,  n.     Severe  trials. 

Hen  on,  n.  Something  of  importance 
hatching  out. 

Hike  out,  v.  To  go  away,  clear  out, 
depart. 

Hog,  v.  To  gather  (a  crop)  by  turn 
ing  swine  in  to  it. 

Horse-shed,  v.  To  propagate  views  or 
advance  interest  by  private  or  quasi 
public  talk. 

Humbly,  adj.  Homely.  Unhand 
some. 

Jimpson     weed,      n.      Stramonium, 


538 


GLOSSARY. 


Jamestown  weed.  (From  the  deso 
lation  about  Jamestown,  Va.,  where 
the  ruins  of  John  Smith's  colony 
were  marked  by  this  malodorous 
plant.) 

Knock,  v .     To  overcome. 
Laylock,  n.     Lilac. 
Lay  down,    v.      To  surrender   one's 

self. 

Lay  low,  v.    To  hide  one's  self. 
Limb,  n.     A  limb  of  Satan. 
Lop-sided,  adj.    Misshapen.    Uusym- 

metrical. 

Main  chance,  n.     Personal  gain. 
Mitten,  n.     Rejection.     (Usually  of  a 

marriage  proposal.) 
Monkey,  v.     To  waste  time  in  foolish 

actions. 
Nary,  art.     "  Ne'er  a."     (Reverse  of 

"ary.") 

Near,  adj.     Stingy,  mean,  penurious. 
Nigger,  v.     To  burn  logs  into  lengths. 
Nip  and  tuck,  n.  or  adv.    Perilous  po 
sition,  alternating  between  hope  and 
fear. 

Offen,  adj.  or  adv.     Off  from. 
O.  K.,  adj.   or  adv.    All  correct  or 

correctly. 
On  it,  adv.    Ably  and  willing,  prompt 

and  ready. 

On  the  job,  adv.  of  place.     In  the  vi 
cinity. 
Ornery,   adj.     Ordinary,   low,   mean, 

contemptible. 
Ou'  doors,  adv.     Out  of  doors,  in  the 

open  air. 

Out  or  Outing,  n.     Outcome,  result. 
Owing  to,  adverbial  expression.     De 
pending  on. 

Patch,  n.     Piece  :  generally  of  land. 
Peart,  adj.     Bright,   smart,   pert,  hi 

good  condition. 

Peter  out,  v.     To  grow  small  by  de 
grees,  down  to  nothingness. 
Piece,  n.     A  luncheon.     Also  an  in 
definite  distance. 

Plum,  adv.  Entirely,  completely,  ir 
revocably. 

Puncheon,  n.  The  side-cut  off  a  saw- 
log.  A  slab. 

Ready,  n.  Ready  money.  Also  pre 
paredness,  as  "  to  get  a  good  ready." 
"  Ready  John  :  "  cash  on  the  nail. 


Right,  adv.    Very,  extremely. 
Right  away,  adv.     Immediately. 
Right  smart,  n.     A  considerable  quan 
tity,    adv.     Considerably. 

Rive,  v.     To  split. 

Sand,  n.  Courage,  determination, 
obstinacy,  perseverance,  grit. 

Scrape,  n.     A  serious  predicament. 

Show,  n.     An  opportunity  for  action. 

Shucks,  n.     A  symbol  of  uselessness. 

Shun  'round,  v.     To  avoid. 

Slab,  n.     A  side-cut  off  a  saw-log. 

Slop  over,  v.  To  be  carried  away  by 
sentiment  or  enthusiasm. 

Slouch,  n.     A  poor,  slovenly  thing. 

Smart  Aleck,  n.  A  fool,  whose  acts 
contravene  his  intentions. 

Smudge,  n.  A  smoky  fire  to  drive 
away  insects. 

Snake,  v.     To  drag  lengthwise. 

Sock  it  to,  v.  To  assail,  injure,  forci 
bly  or  fraudulently. 

Stall,  v.    To  stop  progress. 

Stand  from  under,  v.  To  look  out  for 
surprising  developments.  To  be 
ware. 

Swap,  v.    To  exchange.   (Aboriginal.) 

Sweat,  n.     Unwise  haste,  hurry. 

Swing,  v.  To  hold  up,  sustain,  suc 
ceed  with  ;  especially  an  enterprise 
or  speculation. 

Tackle,  v.  To  undertake.  To  take 
hold  of. 

Take  stock,  v.  To  estimate.  To 
"  take  much  stock "  is  to  value 
highly. 

Talking  or  Talking  steady,  v.  Speak 
ing  to  the  purpose. 

Talk  turkey,  v.  To  speak  to  the  pur 
pose,  to  speak  with  due  regard  to 
the  other  side. 

Teetotal,  adj.  Total,  entire,  com 
plete,  unmixed.  Especially  used  to 
indicate  the  extreme  of  the  temper 
ance  movement. 

Tie  to,  v.    To  rely  on. 

Truck,  n.    Personal  property. 

Way- wonted,  adj.  Accustomed  to 
the  locality. 

Whack,  n.    A  bargain  struck. 

Whack  up,  v.    To  share. 

Whale,  i'.  To  strike  hard  and  rapid 
blows. 


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